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Fighting For Cuba 











Fighting For Cuba 


By 


GORDON STABLES 

<i 

of the British Royal Navy 


Sail on, O Union, strong and great! 
Humanity with all its fears, 

With all the hopes of future years, 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate. 

LONGFELLOW 


Cover Drawing 
By Milo Winter 


Albert Whitman & Company 
Publishers 


Chicago 


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U. S. A. 


Copyright 1928 

By Albert Whitman & Company 


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A Just Right Book 
Made in the U.S.A. 


TO MY BRAVE BOY-READERS 

British and American 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH EVERY KINDLY WISH 
BY THEIR TRUE FRIEND 

The Author 





























































































CONTENTS 


BOOK I 

IN THE FAR PHILIPPINES 

CHAP. PACK 

I. “ I shall give my sword to my country ”.13 

II. By Sea and Land.24 

III. More Adventures Afloat and on Shore . 37 

IV. A Happy Meeting—Adeane Plays His First Card ... 47 

V. “ A Free Cuba!—Down with the Dons! ” That was the Cry, 58 

VI. “ Our Fleet Horses will Speedily Bear Us Far Away ” . . 73 

VII. The Old Plantation Home—Strange Adventures.81 

VIII. “ Then Desmond Felt that His Hour had Come" .... 96 

IX. Such a Narrow Escape—Life Among the Rough Riders of 

Cuba. ... 111 

X. A Bleeding Country Struggling for its Liberty.125 

XI. The Attack on the Hacienda—Determined Resistance. . .137 

XII. “ * War is War/ said Weyler. «So say 1 / cried Adeane/' .151 

BOOK II 

AMERICA TO THE RESCUE 

I. The Eagle Swoops down from his Eyrie.167 

II. A Dark Night’s Work.177 

III. “ Heigho! I shall Dream about all This To-night” .... 186 

IV. “ Dogs that Bark but cannot Bite ”. 198 

V. Life on the Bold Bonito—The Nigger Boys—A Race for 

Dear Life.210 

7 











8 


Contents 


CHAP. PAGE 

VI. The Battle at Manila—Admiral Dewey’s Boyhood .... 224 

VII. How Dewey Peppered the Don—“ Remember the Maine! ” 235 

VIII. Off to Porto Rico Bay—A Web-footed Soldier.242 

IX. Bottling Up the Don—A Glance at Santiago.254 

X. “ The First Scrimmage on Cuban Soil ”. . 264 

XI. Hobson’s Choice.271 

XII. With Roosevelt’s Rough Riders—Dess and Beaver. . . 282 

XIII. A Terrible Battle—Roosevelt on the Heights of San Juan 

—Strange Adventure . 291 

XIV. The Wanderer’s Return—“ See the Conquering Hero 

Comes ! ”. 303 

XV. The Men of Steel and Steam !..310 

XVI. All Things Good and Lovely Wake Again .... . 320 








BOOK 1 

In the Far Philippines 


M Sweet Isles, that hang at eventide, 

Like emeralds on the sea, 

The wild birds shrieking round your shores 
Invite you to be free.”— Anon. 

u For, Freedom has a thousand charms to show 
That slaves, howe’er contented, never know.” 

— Coviper. 







Fighting For Cuba 

CHAPTER I 

“I shall give my sword to my country " 

* I was born an American; I live an American; I shall die an 
American.”— Webster. 

u Such is the patriot’s boast, where’er we roam. 

His first, best, country ever is at home.”— Goldsmith. 

“Do you know, Teddy,” said Desmond, as he and 
his friend lounged together on the quarter-deck of 
the bold, big yacht Bonito, “ do you know that a 
father like mine is a great acquisition.” 

He looked very thoughtful as he spoke; his head 
was just a trifle on one side and his eyes were on 
the sea. 

Desmond was in the habit of making strange re¬ 
marks at times, and though he was barely thirteen, 
these were usually couched in what may be called 
book English. 

“A great acquisition,” he repeated, emphasising 
the adjective “ great.” 

“ How long have you had him, Dess ? ” said Ted, 
with a right merry twinkle in his eye. 

This brought Desmond up with a round turn. 
He shifted his chair a little and laughed—at him¬ 
self. 

“But, really, you know,” he replied, “I some- 

13 


14 Fighting For Cuba 

times think I am far older than father, a hundred 
years at least. But isn’t father good and nice ? ” 

“He’s an angel on earth, Dess, and that’s just 
telling ye, though—” Teddy scratched his head 
and looked a trifle puzzled. 

“ Though what, Teddy ? ” 

“ Troth it’s the big beard I was thinking about. 
But I daresay, my boy, angels can wear what they 
like.” 

“ But,” added Ted, as Desmond made no imme¬ 
diate answer, “ I wish I had a father or a mother, 
either for the matter o’ that, though only a year 
ago I—I —” 

He got no farther. It was evident there was a 
lump in his throat, and the tears stood in his Irish 
eyes. Bluer than the sea were they. 

“ Hush! Hush! brother,” said Desmond, laying 
one hand kindly on his friend’s knee. 

“Hush! Teddy, didn’t daddy promise to be a 
father to both of us, and don’t you think his heart is 
large enough ? ” 

“ Sure, sure, and it’s yourself that’s right. You’re 
wiser than me. There’s fifteen years old I am and 
the biggest fool ever born in a bog.” 

He dashed the back of his hand almost angrily 
across his eyes as he spoke, as if mortally ashamed 
of the tears that had threatened to fall. 

“ Oh! Teddy, I wouldn’t be ashamed of wet eyes. 
Why, I myself wept a piece when I bade mother 
and siss good-bye in dear old Cuba.” 



44 1 shall give my sword to my country " 15 

“ True for you, Dess, but you are only a boy. I’m 
a man.” 

“Yes, you’re a man, and I mean to be one too, 
and I feel that this sailor life is helping to make me 
one.” 

“ Good, Dessie, good, for the honour of old Ireland 
let us both be men, the whole lot of the two of us.” 

“And America. Don’t forget I’m American born, 
though I’ve lived much in the sorrowful land, as you 
call it sometimes, Teddy.” 

Teddy laughed good-naturedly. “ Dess,” he 
said, “ you’re Irish and sorra a thing else, and it’s 
Irish you’d be if you’d been born in the moon. If 
I put a dozen duck’s eggs under a turkey, is it 
Turks or turkeys either, that’ll be finding their 
way, some fine morn in’, out of the shells. Be 
quiet with ye, Dess, with your America and all 
that.” 

“ Teddy, listen,” said Desmond, “ America is my 
father’s adopted country, though he owns both 
house and lands in Ireland, My father’s adopted 
country, and my mother’s. I am American-born, 
and sister too, and I love every acre and inch of the 
country from the wild rocky mountains where 
bears and pumas prowl across its vast extent to the 
shores that are washed by the waves of the wild At¬ 
lantic. And listen again—there is going to be 
war, bloody war, Ted, between our land and the 
cruel and dastardly Spaniards. By the time that 
war comes, I shall be years older, perhaps a man of 


16 Fighting For Cuba 

fifteen like yon; and, Ted —I shall give my sword 
to my country .” 

He had stood np as he spoke, his eyes flashed and 
his hard little fist quivered in the air. 

But he had not noticed his big brown-bearded 
father coming up behind him on tiptoe, had no 
knowledge of his presence on deck in fact, until he 
was seized by the sides and lifted right up about a 
mile high, more or less, into the air. 

“Bravo! my son,” cried Captain Adeane, 
“ Bravo! Going to give your sword to your coun¬ 
try ? Ha, ha, ha. How proud America will be! 
But, there, lad, sit down again. A boy’s heroics 
don’t often count for much, but I’m not going to 
discourage you. There may be something in them 
^sometimes.” Desmond blushed the colour of a 
well-boiled lobster and sank into his seat. 

“Hay, lad, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. 
Tour ancestors never hung head before the swords 
and spears of the perfidious Saxons who invaded 
Green Erin and tried to trample our manhood in 
the dust. The same blood runs in your veins, boy. 
There! I won’t flatter you, but you’ve got your 
mother’s kindly heart, and you’ve got the grit and 
sand in your system; never lose your head nor let 
pathos and enthusiasm carry you away, and you’ll 
do right well. But I’m not a preaching father. 
Ami?” 

“Ho, daddy dear, I’m sure you’re not.” 

“Well, away up into the fore top with you both, 


" I shall give my sword to my country " 17 

and look out for a ship or for squalls, or anything 
you like.” 

The boys started to their feet. 

“Half a minute, lads. Teddy you’ll take the 
weather ratlines, Hess the lee, because he’s lighter. 
Stand on deck by the rigging till I fire a pistol, 
then up you swarm and I’ll give half a sovereign 
to the one who is first up. Ho going through the 
lubber-hole though. The race must be ship-shape 
and Bristol fashion.” 

The pistol rang out on the morning air, and in 
two seconds or less, a shrill “ Hooray! ” in a fal¬ 
setto voice, proved that young Desmond had won. 

Battle, rattle, rattle, up the companion ! Bowff, 
wowff, wowff! 

And immediately after two more figures stood on 
the quarter-deck, beside or rather confronting the 
captain, not to mention the dog. 

“ In the name of mystery what’s happened ? ” 
cried his Keverence Mr. McDowney. 

“ Been shooting sharks, sir ? ” cried the doctor. 

Bowff, wowff, barked Charley Chat. There’s 
some sport on and you haven’t told me. Wowff! 

The captain laughed heartily. 

“You’re all wrong together,” he said. “I was 
only giving those two young rascals a race up the 
rigging, and now they’re in the foretop having the 
romance blown out of them.” 

“ Ah! indeed then,” said his reverence, the priest, 
“you’ll never do that as far as Dess is concerned, 


18 Fighting For Cuba 

and it isn’t myself that would wish it. What were 
youth without its day-dreams and its castles in 
the air ? ” 

“ What, indeed ? ” said Surgeon Ramsay, who had 
a habit of agreeing with the good priest in almost 
everything he gave utterance to. 

Yet in appearance, no two men could have been 
much more different than Ramsay and the good 
priest McDowney. The latter was fully forty, 
thickset and somewhat swart in countenance. He 
had a thin-lipped, determined face, but a kindly look 
in his eyes that told of the goodness of his heart. 
When that face was at rest the expression thereon 
was rather sad than otherwise, as if he were wont to 
muse on the sorrows of the world; but, as a rule 
when he spoke, it was so merry that merriment 
went scintillating off it and all round the mess. 
It is very few indeed who have the power to make 
others happy, but McDowney possessed it in the 
highest degree. 

Ramsay was a young, fair-haired Yorkshire man, 
as handsome as paint, as sailors say, and just as 
strong, erect and broad in beam as you find them 
up in Yorkshire, and maybe nowhere else in England. 
Captain Adeane had picked him off an Atlantic 
greyhound. He had been across and across many 
times, and had got tired of such short voyages. He 
used to say one could pitch a biscuit from Liver¬ 
pool to New York. 

So patriotic was Adeane that I do not think he 


44 1 shall give my sword to my country 99 19 

would have engaged the services of a Sassenach had 
he not found out, in conversing with Ramsay, that 
his ancestors had been Scotch and Irish. But he 
never repented his choice of a doctor. 

The engineers were Scotch, but with these as ex¬ 
ceptions, every soul on board belonged to bonnie 
Erin. And a whole-souled, hearty crew they made; 
forty all told were they, and quite old-fashioned in a 
manner of speaking, for with the concurrence of Cap¬ 
tain Adeane and his Reverence, they kept Saturday 
nights at sea—the main brace being invariably 
spliced, that they could sing songs, spin yarns and 
toast their wives and sweethearts. There was 
always a jolly supper in the galley and half-deck 
that evening, and this served to make up for the 
semi-starvation of their Fridays, for on these days 
nothing but fish—fresh if they could find it, salt if 
not—was served out. 

The Bonito was a happy ship, because she had 
a happy, good-natured skipper and mates as well 
who, although they would have work and duty 
done, never bullied or shouted angrily at their men. 
Thus punishment was unknown on board. 

They had been three months out from Havana, 
on the beautiful Isle of Cuba, and here they were 
only yet some distance to the southward of Mada¬ 
gascar. 

The Bonito was a steamer, it is true, and strong, 
swift and sturdy at that. Nevertheless Captain 
Adeane had not hurried. He was a man who liked 


20 


Fighting For Cuba 


to take things easy, and because he hated the grind 
and grime and greasy odour of revolving engines, he 
had sailed pretty nearly all the way. 

The saloon mess consisted only of the captain 
himself, the priest or tutor, the surgeon and the 
two youngsters. Add to these “ Charlie Chat,” the 
bulldog, “ Cheese,” a most marvellous and wise half- 
bred Persian tabby cat, and you have a complete 
list of the officers aft, unless you care to count the 
black steward, who, arrayed in robes of white, 
glided in and out all day long, a most faithful 
servitor from the captain’s estate and “ hacienda ” 
in Cuba. 

“Well,” said the priest, on the present occasion, 
“ I shall get my pupils down and go in for some 
French lessons.” 

“ I say, father,” said the captain, smiling, “ why 
not go up. There’s room, you know.” 

“ Sure, I never thought of such a thing. I’ll try, 
though I’m no great climber.” 

The priest was dressed in the very lightest of 
white suits, only he would always stick to his cler¬ 
ical hat, which made him look somewhat droll. 
Away he went, and crawled hesitatingly up the 
rigging as far as the lubber-hole. The sailors be¬ 
low had great fun at his ungainly motions, which 
were more like those of a lobster crawling up a 
rock than a man on the ratlines. 

The boys helped him through and he made him¬ 
self as comfortable as circumstances would permit, 


44 1 shall give my sword to my country " 21 

and proceeded to converse with his pupils in 
French, but he secretly vowed a vow that no power 
on earth or on the ocean blue, should ever get him 
up into the foretop again. 

****** 

Up and down the quarter-deck, up and down and 
up and down walked the captain and his surgeon. 
Both were sailors, both had their sea legs, and no 
motion could have affected them. 

They were very friendly, these two, and ever and 
anon their ringing laughter came floating up and 
fell upon the ears of the lads and their tutor in the 
foretop. 

At last they seated themselves on deck chairs on 
the weather side. 

The mate stood near to the man at the wheel 
taking a glance now and then into the binnacle, 
just from force of habit, for the ship was on a beam 
wind, if wind it could be called, and every inch of 
canvas was set. 

The captain—he was both captain and owner of 
the brave Bonito—pulled out his cigar-case and 
smilingly held it toward the doctor. 

The doctor was not much of a smoker, but he 
couldn’t refuse a pure Havana. 

There was a button in the sky-light close to 
where the two friends sat in their comfortable 
hammock-chairs. It was nearer to the captain and 
he touched it. 


22 


Fighting For Cuba 

Then came the tinkle of a bell from below and 
soon the white-robed steward came up. He walked 
erect and stately, as many black men do. 

“ Sah to you, sah ? ” (Sir to you, sir.) 

“ Iced water and limes, Pedro.” 

“ Yes sah, suttainly. Sugah ? All right.” 

“ How,” said Captain Adeane, when the steward 
had brought the tumblers, and the smoke from the 
cigars went curling up and formed a cloud beneath 
the awning. “How, doctor, this is what I call en 
joying the dolcefar niente .” 

“It is delightful, and now would just be the 
time for you to tell—and for me to enjoy listening 
to—the story of your career that you promised.” 

“ Well, it must be very brief, Ramsay, for I’m 
but a poor hand at spinning a yarn.” 

Just as he was finishing his story, Captain 
Adeane saw the boys hurrying aft, and both seemed 
on the eve of splitting their sides with the laugh¬ 
ter they were trying in vain to suppress. 

“O, father!” cried Desmond, “I want to tell 
you that—that—ha! ha! ha! ” 

“ My dear boy,” said Captain Adeane, “ what is 
the matter; have you been bitten by a tarantula or 
what ? ” 

“ Och, it’s like this, sir,” said Teddy, merrily, “ the 
holy father, the priest, came up into the foretop 
and the sorra an inch of him can get down again.” 

It was the captain’s turn to smile now. 

“Well, we’ll soon manage that,” he said, “we’ll 


44 1 shall give my sword to my country 99 23 

try block and tackle and have him below in a brace 
of shakes.” 

The first mate, a tall and hirsute sailor had drawn 
near to listen. 

“ Mr. Stapleton,” said Captain Adeane, turning 
toward him, “you hear the fix the poor priest is 
in; see what you can do.” 

“Ay, ay, sir. Watch forward there! Lay aft 
half a dozen of you.” 

The men made one eager rush toward the 
quarter-deck, and as soon as matters were ex¬ 
plained to them, off they ran and disappeared be¬ 
low, with what result we shall see in the next chap¬ 
ter. 


CHAPTER II 
By Sea and Land 

u Adieu, adieu ! my native land 
Fades o’er the waters blue.”— Byron. 

“ Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, 

Where the eye of the vulture, the love of the turtle 

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime.”— Byron. 

Evekything was soon ready, and the mate him¬ 
self, out of courtesy to the priest, went aloft with 
two of his best men to carry the gear. 

It was soon made fast, the priest looking on with 
some degree of trepidation. 

But when it was explained to him by Mr. Staple- 
ton that he had only to put his limbs through the 
bight of the rope, and clutch it above, he was com¬ 
pletely staggered. 

“ What! ” he cried, “ is it sit in a rope ? No, no, 
no, sure, I’d sooner sit here till the crack of doom.” 

“Well,” cried a broad-shouldered sailor, “well, 
sorr, if it’s on to me back ye’ll be after coming, with 
yer hands around me neck, troth it is down the rat¬ 
lines I’ll slip wid yer Reverence, and be on deck 
before ye can say binnacle.” 

24 


By Sea. and Land 25 

“Foolhardy! foolhardy! my good friends, nay, 
nay, leave me alone in my misery.” 

“ But, my dear sir,” said the mate, “ a squall may 
come at any moment, and then it’s into the sea 
you’ll be pitched with small ceremony! ” 

“And it’s a nate little dinner the sharks’ll be 
having, father,” said the sailor. 

The priest groaned, and gazed fearfully around 
him at the beautiful sea. 

Then the mate had a happy thought. 

“A big sack,” he cried, “there are plenty of 
them below. Down you, Tip, my lad, and bring 
the biggest and strongest biscuit sack you can find.” 

The man was speedily back, but I fear there was 
a roguish smile in his eye as he handed the mate 
the bag. 

The priest began to tremble. 

“ Oh! ” he cried, “ pray, say, if—if—it is safe, my 
dear mate. This is a terrible danger! ” 

“ Arrah! be aisy wid ye father,” said one of the 
men. “We’ll lower ye down and dump you on 
deck as softly as we would a barrel o’ rum.” 

“ Now, we’re ready. Feet first, father. Gently, 
boys, take your time. We’re saving a precious 
life! ” 

The poor priest was praying, I think, and Mr. 
Stapleton really felt sorry for him, but there was a 
deal of quiet merriment and joking on the deck be¬ 
low, and things were said that it might not have 
been good for Father McDowney to have heard. 


26 


Fighting For Cuba 

“ Lower away now lads—gently does it! ” 

But gently didn’t, for the sack was but half-way 
down along the mast when the rope hitched in the 
block above, and there swang the priest for ten 
long minutes ’twixt heaven and earth like Ma¬ 
homet’s coffin. 

Down at last, though, and so overjoyed was he, 
that hardly knowing what he was doing, he went 
hopping oif, bag and all, nearly all the way to the 
quarter-deck like a boy doing the sack race. 

The sight was so ridiculous that suppressed merri¬ 
ment burst its bounds, and from bowsprit to bin¬ 
nacle the decks rang with shouts of laughter. The 
mate released him, and then, Irish-like, the priest 
joined the laugh himself, and so merrily, too, that 
the men at once came to the conclusion that they 
had been “ sold,” as they termed it. They knew 
the worthy priest was fond of a practical joke, and 
this was one of the best they had ever seen. 

Charlie Chat, his bulldog, knew better, however. 
The fierce looking dog, with the ugly face and 
kindly eyes, had been anxiously watching the whole 
performance, and now laughed and grinned like a 
lady fox as he went barking and galloping round 
and round his master. 

It remains to be seen whether Father McDowney 
was or was not the coward that some of the men 
from this date put him down as. 

However, ten minutes after his wild adventure, 
his Reverence strolled on deck with a cigarette in 


By Sea and Land 27 

his mouth, as leisurely as if nothing had marred 
the even tenor of his life. 

Behind him came faithful Charlie Chat, behind 
Charlie came Cheese, the monster brown tabby cat. 
Between these two existed a most perfect entente 
cordiole , and the gambols they indulged in, day 
after day, really did the men forward as much good as 
if they had been served with an extra glass of rum. 

Charlie’s face, like that of all well-bred bulldogs, 
was ugly in the extreme. But its very ugliness was 
a point of beauty, and this dog—built like a Dutch 
lugger—had the strength of a young lion. He was 
brave enough, moreover, to have tackled a tiger, but 
gentle was he as any suckling lamb, and when he 
laid his ears back and smiled at you with a grin 
that appeared to run down both sides, nearly as far 
as his tail, so droll was that chump of a head of his, 
that you would have laughed had your grand aunt 
been dying. But then you would have stooped 
down at once and patted him, for fear of hurting his 
feelings. 

Charlie was happy on the present occasion. Had 
his dear master not been brought back to him ap¬ 
parently from the very jaws of death ? So he com¬ 
menced to tease the cat. Cheese was always ready 
for a game, and a droll one it was. After chasing 
pussy all round the ship a dozen times, she eluding 
the pursuit in the nimblest way, now springing on 
the bulwarks or the capstan or into the rigging just 
as Charlie thought he had her, Cheese allowed 


28 


Fighting For Cuba 

himself to be grappled at last and a ring of men 
and officers surrounded the couple to witness the 
denouement . Anyone who did not know the game, 
would have felt certain that poor Cheese was being 
worried to death. The guttural “habbering” of 
the dog, as he throttled him; the fuss-fussing 
and contortions of the cat, were all terribly like re¬ 
ality. Finally pussy’s cries got weaker and weaker 
and then she lay “ dead.” Now was Charlie’s hour 
of triumph. He lifted her up—gently enough—by 
the back of the neck and carrying her aft, laid her 
down at Desmond’s feet. Then he looked shyly up 
with that wondrous smile on his broad face. 

“ There’s Cheese,” he seemed to say. “ She’s met 
her doom at last and when you’ve examined her I 
think you will concur in my opinion that a coro¬ 
ner’s inquest is the only thing that can comfort 
her.” 

But up sprang the dead pussy, gave Charlie a 
funny little pat on the jowl with a mittened paw 
and jumped on top of the skylight. 

“Well, well,” said Charlie Chat, gazing drolly 
after her; “ who would have thought it. I must 
kill her over again some time this afternoon.” 

But ten minutes after this Charlie and Cheese 
were sound asleep on the grating abaft the bin¬ 
nacle with one of pussy’s paws placed fondly over 
the bulldog’s shoulder. 

****** 

The voyage of the Bonito northward and east to- 


By Sea, and Land 29 

ward Manila, 1 in the far-away Philippines, was a 
singularly delightful one, with just one accident 
though, and it served to cast a gloom over the vessel 
for many days. 

Willie Bain was an ordinary seaman, a happy- 
faced young Irish lad who was a general favourite, 
not only forward among his messmates, but aft 
with the officers. Willie was always at hand when 
wanted, and was ever ready to do a favour or good 
hand’s-turn for anyone who asked him; and his 
songs were considered the sweetest that were sung 
on Saturday nights by any sailor on board. I do 
believe that Charlie Chat would have defended him 
with his life’s blood, and Willie might have been 
often seen doing his duty on deck, with Cheese 
seated lovingly on his shoulder, purring aloud as if 
to encourage him. 

“ Man overboard ! ” 

O, that ringing and terrible cry ! 

In the forenoon it was too, the sea all around the 
ship blue and calm, and the Bonito steaming easily 
on her way. 

All who heard that shout rushed on deck and the 
life-buoy was let go at once. 

“ Who is it ? Who is it ? ” was the oft-repeated 
question. 

It was Willie Bain. But surely on so fine a day, 
and he so good a swimmer too, he could be saved. 
Though the yacht had forged ahead and he was 

* Pronounced Maneela. 


30 Fighting For Cuba 

left a good way astern, he was seen to clutch the 
buoy and rest thereon. 

“ Away life-boat’s crew! ” 

Ay, speed ye, men. Speed ye, for there is danger 
in the deep. 

The men know this and had they been racing for 
a prize they could not make the boat speed more 
swiftly across the water than they do. 

They are within fifty, thirty, twenty yards of 
him. The coxswain can see him smiling. 

Then, suddenly—0 the pitiable, agonising scream. 
It ends bubblingly and suddenly, and poor Willie 
Bain is seen no more. 

But the boat’s crew find the water dyed with 
blood, and well they know what that means. Their 
messmate is dead—dragged down in the terrible 
jaws of a shark. 

But sorrow cannot dwell long on shipboard and 
in a week’s time, though Willie would never be for¬ 
gotten, there is nothing more said about the awful 
tragedy. 

“Now boys,” said McDowney, when the Bonito 
dropped anchor outside Manila harbour, “ I’ll answer 
as many questions as it may please you to put about 
the town, but if the pair of you ask two different 
questions at the very same time, I can’t promise to 
answer the both of you at once.” 

“ N—no ! ” said Desmond, in a half-puzzled kind 
of way. “ You haven’t two tongues, Father Mc¬ 
Downey, have you ? ” 


By Sea. and Land 31 

“O, yes, I have, Tad, I’ve as many tongues as 
they had when the Tower of Babel fell, but for the 
life o’ me I can’t use more’n one at a time.” 

“ But look you, see; here on this bit of a chart 
you can trace Manila Bay. At the entrance to the 
left is the isle of Corrigedor, with its lighthouse. 
We’ll pass that to-morrow, then the bay will open 
out and out till it is thirty miles across, and maybe 
more, one vast and beautiful sheet of water, and if 
you’ll but rise in the mornings early—be quiet with 
you, Charlie Chat, don’t be chewing the buttons off 
my best waistcoat—I was saying, boys, that if you 
rise in the mornings you’ll see the sun pop up over 
the distant hills, and on the clouds and on the 
water such colours and colouring, all radiant with 
light, mind you, as you’ll never forget in your lives. 
Well, we pass Cavite on the right—pronounce it 
Kaveetay, boys, and don’t forget. It isn’t much of 
a place, but it bristles with guns as you’ll see, and 
the Spaniards—innocent souls—think it is invulner¬ 
able, unassailable and so forth. And then you 
come to Manila itself. And, through this, runs to 
the sea the big river Pasig.” 

“ And is Manila a large place ? ” asked Desmond. 

“ As big as and maybe bigger than Dublin, itself. 
If every sinner in the place, my boy, has a soul, 
which I’ve sometimes doubted, then, there must be 
300,000 souls of one kind and another in this queer, 
queer place.” 

“ All Spaniards ? ” asked Ted McCoy. 


3 2 Fighting For Cuba 

“ No, no, more’n one-half Chinese or native* 
Chinese, and that means people born in the city 
with Chinese fathers and mothers, and the other 
half are Spaniards, most of them the biggest scoun¬ 
drels unhung. But there is another portion of the 
community-” 

“ And that makes three halves, father,” said Des¬ 
mond, slyly. 

“ Ye’re the droll boy, you are, sure enough, but 
the third half is Scotch and English and just a taste 
of the American element.” 

“ There will soon be more Americans,” said Cap¬ 
tain Adeane. “ That is my belief.” 

He little knew that he was talking prophetically. 

“And now, lads, to bed with you,” continued 
Adeane. “ You needn’t keep watch to-night, either 
of you, as I want you to turn out to-morrow, fresh 
and jolly.” 

Both boys were on deck next morning before 
sunrise. The men were scrubbing down decks, so 
the young fellows had stripped that they might 
have the hose turned on them. And this is one of 
the most bracing baths one can have on a starlit 
morning in the tropics. When you go to sea, read¬ 
ers, remember my words and make a trial of it. 
****** 

Well, while Captain Adeane settled matters with 
the custom-house officers, and a tough lot they are, 
and called on friends with an eye to business and 
future developments, the two boys and his Bever- 


33 


By Sea and Land 

ence, to say nothing of Charlie Chat, went on shore 
for a look about and a promenade in the palm-tree 
shaded suburbs. 

They disdained the slow and unsteady tram- 
cars with their wretched horses, that seem to hang 
together, simply because they are covered with skin, 
though very often that is in holes in that it is 
invariably marked with the lash. 

Our heroes did the shops first, ordering their par¬ 
cels to be sent to await them at the best hotel. Then 
at this hotel they ordered dinner for a certain hour, 
and so, having seen all they cared to see for the 
present, they started off on the march. 

* * * * * * 

Their long sea voyage had made the boys and 
their tutor strong-limbed, strong-lunged and hardy. 
But when they set forth that forenoon on a long 
walk northward and mostly by the river’s brink— 
just to see things, as Father McDowney phrased it 
—they had no idea that they would have a wild ad¬ 
venture. 

They were armed simply with Penang lawyers, 1 
but concealed in his back pocket the priest carried 
a wicked-looking little revolver. 


1 A Penang lawyer is a kind of knob-kerry or shillalah made of 
very hard wood found on Penang Island. It is an excellent “ lawyer ” 
in case of a row with natives. Although it may be called a shillalah, 
it does not shilly-shally as ordinary lawyers do. It comes to the point 
at once and the case is ended right away. 


34 Fighting For Cuba 

They had for their guide a Chinese boy, who 
looked quite fifty years of age, but who in reality 
was only fifteen. They chose him because he 
looked bright-eyed and earnest, and right willing to 
earn a dollar. He could talk a little English, too, 
after a fashion. To his care was entrusted the 
grip-sack containing the party’s modest luncheon, 
which included the priest’s little taste of Irish 
whiskey. 

The day was beautiful, but rather warm, so that 
fit though they were, it was fully three hours be¬ 
fore they found themselves in the beautiful wilds. 
The road had been very narrow, little more indeed 
than a bridle-track except when passing through 
the little down villages, from the rickety shanties 
of which naked brown children ran forth to gaze 
in fear and wonder at the “ foreign devils.” 

The palms and other magnificent trees were a 
sight to look at, so too were the birds and strange 
insects. 

They came at last to a more hilly country, the 
mountains clad to their summits with primeval 
forests. 

Then the guide suddenly stopped. 

“ Me no go muchee falder,” he said. “ Badee 
men in the follest. Ho, no ! ” 

“ Just a mile or two, my lad,” urged the priest. 

“ Me likee you. Me likee go. But takee off dat 
hat, den I go.” 

“ Take off my hat! Why ? ” 


By Sea and Land 35 

“ He no plopah pidgin. I givee you mine.” 

The good Father Me Downey laughed aloud. 

He needn’t have done so. The boy was right. A 
priest’s hat was an eyesore to the natives at this 
time. It was the year 1895, and tired of the ac¬ 
cursed cruelties of the Spaniards and their terrible 
extortions, the whole native population were hover¬ 
ing on the brink of rebellion. They hated the 
Spaniards with a fire of hatred that would soon be 
quenched in blood, but the priests were their es¬ 
pecial foes. 

However, it was many long hours before sunset, 
so McDowney and the boys pushed on and the 
Chinese lad followed reluctantly. 

About a quarter of a mile further into this splen¬ 
did forest, something attracted Charlie Chat’s at¬ 
tention. It was a beast, the like of which he had 
never seen before—a porcupine, to wit, and growl¬ 
ing gruffly, he disappeared in pursuit of it into the 
bush to make investigations. 

Just two minutes after this, three wild-looking 
natives, armed with clubs, suddenly confronted 
them. These fierce men had come out of the 
forest. 

They spoke in an unknown tongue, but there 
could be no mistaking their meaning. Our friends 
were “held up.” Eobbery was apparently certain, 
murder might follow. 

“ Condemno nos” roared Father McDowney. 

That was good honest Latin, though he needn’t 


36 Fighting For Cuba 

have put such terrible emphasis on the second syl¬ 
lable. 

“ What d’ye want, ye imps ye ? ” he added. 

One robber replied by pitching a club at the 
speaker’s head, which, had he not ducked, would 
have brained him. The other two attacked the 
boys. 

Then ensued about the freest kind of a fight that 
it has ever been my fate to witness. 


CHAPTER in 

More Adventures Afloat and on Shore 

“ Swings the scaly horror of his tail.”— Milton. 

“ I would not spend another such a night, 

Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days.”— Shakespeare. 

Father McDowney’s English was generally as 
correct as any one need wish to hear, and his accent 
as sibilant and sweet as that of a Dublin lady, 
which is no small praise, but at this exciting mo¬ 
ment he forgot all about the niceties of speech. 

“ Hurroo! my boys,” he shouted, “ Hurroosh! 
Hit ’em whare ye plaze, but hit ’em hard.” 

Both the “ Hurroo! ” and the “ Hurroosh! ” were 
beaten time to, as it were, by blows from the good 
priest’s shillalah on the would-be robber’s skull, the 
sound of which could have been heard a long way 
off. 

That Filipino’s head, however, seemed to be made 
of cast iron and he did not fall. 

Father McDowney at once changed his tactics 
and changed his Penang lawyer at the same time 
from his right hand to his left. 

Whack! Whack! The blows fell fair and square 
on the villain’s shin-bones, and down he went, howl¬ 
ing like a maniac. 


37 


38 Fighting For Cuba 

He was hors de combat. But though defending 
themselves most gallantly, the boys had been beaten 
back yards along the road, and the priest now flew 
to their assistance. 

It would have done any one’s heart good to note 
the nimbleness with which his Reverence now 
twirled his shillalah. Nothing in the Donnebrook 
Fair of olden times could have equalled it. You 
scarce could have seen the morsel of timber, as he 
called it. 

Desmond’s right arm was partially disabled, but 
he laid about merrily with the left. 

The battle was still undecided, and one man had 
drawn an ugly short stiletto. 

How it might have ended, had not assistance ar¬ 
rived, it is impossible to say. 

Charlie Chat, having followed the porcupine quite 
a long way, lost it in the ground. 

He then pricked up his droll little ears, cocked 
his head and listened. 

“ A fight! ” he said to himself. “ Here goes! I’ll 
take a ticket.” 

He covered the ground ’twixt himself and the 
combatants in a very short time, considering that 
he was but a cloddy muscular bulldog, and was 
just in time to collar the man with the poniard. 
He shook the instrument from his hand. He shook 
the man then as he might have shaken a rat, till the 
blood from his biceps flowed freely enough. When 
this fellow fell, shouting for mercy in bad Spanish, 


More Adventures Afloat and on Shore 39 

tne dog turned to seek another foe, but he had 
climbed up a tree. 

“ Now boys,” cried Father McDowney, “ by this 
and by that we’ve got the two of them. And when 
we tie them together we’ll fetch the other down. 
Is your arm badly broken, my dear lad ? ” 

“ Not broken at all, sir,” said Desmond, bravely. 
Yet his face was drawn and white with pain. 
“ Only a trifling bruise! ” 

He even helped to tie the two fellows’ hands, and 
when the other man was threatened with the 
priest’s pistol, he came quietly down and submitted, 
like the others, to be tied with part of his own gar¬ 
ments. 

Then the march back took place, Charlie Chat 
walking behind with his master, who kept his 
revolver in hand, a boy at each side, and the guide, 
who had at last come up, walking on in front. 

“ A pretty procession! ” the priest called it. 

Although the villagers looked very threatening 
as they passed through, they arrived safely at last 
in Manila, and the robbers were handed over to the 
police. I never heard what their sentence was, but 
as it was proved that one of them at least was a pro¬ 
moter of the coming strife, doubtless it was severe. 

The jolly priest was very merry at dinner that 
evening—and a better “ spread,” as Desmond termed 
it, surely no one ever sat down to. 

No doubt remained in the lads’ minds now that 
the priest was brave, and the adventure in the fore- 


40 Fighting For Cuba 

top and his ludicrous descent in the sack were all 
forgotten. 

The moon was shining very brightly that even¬ 
ing as they dropped down stream in a Spanish boat 
and boarded once more the bold Bonito. 

****** 

The yacht prolonged her stay in the Bay of 
Manila for six all too short weeks, but though 
Father McDowney and his boys went in for all 
kinds of sport and adventure, both near and far, 
Captain Adeane himself kept strictly to business. 
He had introductions to several of the chief ex¬ 
porters—English and Scotch—of the city, and 
with them he formed a new firm. He himself 
appointed a manager and even clerks without a 
Spaniard among them. 

Meanwhile, in native boats, Father McDowney 
and our young heroes went cruising daily. They 
visited many of the smaller and adjacent islands, 
and sometimes slept thereon in hammocks under the 
palms. They fished in the sea and far up the river, 
as well, and made a small but beautiful collection of 
coral and shells to take home to the hacienda in 
Cuba. They visited, too, the most distant parts of 
the lovely island of Luzon, and found tropical 
scenery of such rare loveliness, that Desmond might 
well have been excused for calling the whole rural 
and forest districts of the place a Fairyland. 

They never went unarmed now, however, but car¬ 
ried both guns and pistols, and though Charlie Chat 


More Adventures Afloat and on Shore 41 

was in himself an excellent escort, they added to it 
by taking with them two faithful natives. There¬ 
fore, whenever in a village or one of the old-fash¬ 
ioned romantic towns among the wooded hills and 
by the banks of some charming lake, the natives 
looked on them with suspicion, their men explained 
that they were not Spanish, but friends from a far- 
off country. 

The mountains in some parts of the island they 
found to be exceedingly high and nearly always 
more or less volcanic. There are dangerous snakes 
here, and our heroes had several narrow escapes. 
Nor is the civet cat altogether a safe customer to 
come suddenly across. 

One day while Father McDowney lounged lazily, 
smoking his brier by the banks of a small but 
lovely lake among the hills, the boys, accompanied 
only by Charlie Chat, went back into the forest to 
look at the many-coloured birds with which the 
woods abound. There was no real path, only a 
beast track. But they followed it, and were led 
thereby upward and upward, many hundreds of 
feet, till peeping backward through the trees, they 
could catch glimpses of the far-off blue sea and the 
white and fleecy clouds in the sky above. They 
were apprehending no danger, when suddenly right 
above them, from a cairn of small boulders came a 
blood-curdling yell, and next minute there stood 
out on a rock a huge civet cat. Long-headed, 
with glaring eyes, and bristling back arched on 


4 2 Fighting For Cuba 

high, there the huge monster stood and boldly 
defied them. 

“Don’t shoot, Ted,” cried Dess, “perhaps the 
poor thing has young ones, and we are the in¬ 
vaders, mind. ” But Charlie Chat entertained 
quite a different opinion, and instantly attacked it. 
The habbering of the dog and fearful yelling of the 
wild beast resounded far and near through the 
forest, and seemed repeated by the echoes of the 
hills twenty times over. Charlie had fixed the 
civet and did not mean to quit that grip while life 
did last. 

But seeing that the dog was getting badly 
clawed, young Desmond marched up, and with his 
revolver gave the wild-cat his quietus. The skin 
of that wild creature now hangs over a chair in the 
drawing-room of Adeane’s Cuban hacienda, and 
Charlie Chat often takes a sniff at it, his face beam¬ 
ing with pride. No doubt that sniff brings back to 
his mind recollections of the terrible fight on the 
forest-clad hill in Luzon. 

I fear these boy heroes of mine were sometimes 
a trifle rash, and that is what no boy should be 
who values his life. 

This is precisely what Father McDowney told 
Desmond one day after an adventure he had with a 
monster crocodile. 

The lake where Dess had gone in to bathe and 
have a swim, was small, and entirely surrounded by 
trees, whose leaf-laden branches bent downward 


More Adventures Afloat and on Shore 43 

till they kissed the dark water, leaving thus a lane 
twixt the bank and the bending tree-tips. This 
water-way was entirely arched over with foliage 
and looked so cool and inviting, that the lad could 
not help stripping for a dip. Luckily Ted himself 
did not follow his example, or most certainly one 
young life would have been lost. 

“This is quite a lover’s lane,” cried Desmond, 
“ and Teddy, if you’ll walk alongside, I’ll swim right 
round the lake.” 

“ I’m with ye,” said Ted, cheerily, “ to the back 
of the world and after that.” 

So, steadily, with breast-stroke, Desmond began 
to plough the dark black water. 

He had not gone far, however, till Charlie barked 
loud and excitedly, and went rushing ahead along 
the mossy bank. 

Ted’s eyes followed him, but next moment he 
was almost paralysed with fear. Just for a second 
or two he could not speak. He felt like one in a 
fearful dream. For far ahead in the green gloom 
he could see the waters stirred and a crocodile, with 
awful head and arms, making straight for the spot 
where Dess was swimming. 

“ Come out, O come out,” he managed to gasp at 
last. “ O Dess, Dess, the ’gator! ” 

He rushed close to the bank as he spoke, and his 
friend seized his extended hand. 

Probably Desmond would never have a more 
narrow escape from a terrible death, for hardly was 


44 


Fighting For Cuba 


he well up when the scaly monster swept past them 
and dived a little way farther on. 

“ It would have soon been all over, though,” said 
the boy to the priest, “ all over in a moment.” 

“ I’m not so sure of that, either. ’Twould have 
been death from drowning, for these crocodiles 
don’t kill one with their teeth and eat them right 
up at once. No, sure, they like their meat tender, 
and that ugly, great beast would have stowed you 
away under a bank for a few days until you were 
tender. So mind where you swim again, my boy. 
Don’t you forget this adventure.” 

“ O no, father,” said Desmond, drolly, “ I shan’t 
forget it, because I shall write it down, you know. 
And dear old Charlie Chat! Why, it is the second 
time he has saved my life! 

“You darling broth of a boy,” he continued, 
hugging the dog, “it is the Albert medal you 
should have, and if you don’t get it from the queen 
I’ll make you one myself.” 

But before we leave the Philippines for good, my 
readers, I must tell you of one other wild adven¬ 
ture, in which Charlie Chat figured somewhat 
ridiculously, in a way at all events that did not re¬ 
dound much to the honour and glory of “Ye Brit¬ 
ish Bulldog.” 

The boys and their kindly tutor had gone for a 
farewell picnic to their favourite island. The day 
was cooler than usual, with a light breeze that had 
sent their boat dancing right merrily over the 


More Adventures Afloat and on Shore 45 

water, and they thoroughly enjoyed the basket of 
good things which they had brought with them, 
and the delicious fruit they found on the island, all 
washed down with the milk from green cocoa- 
nuts. 

Father McDowney lay down as was his wont, to 
smoke, under the shade of a spreading tree, and to 
gaze at the sea. The boys had gone to look for a 
turtle to turn, and of course Charlie went too. 

It was not very long before they came in sight of 
a huge fellow on the sand, but high up near to the 
woodland. 

That turtle, however, had heard them coming. 
He said he had some important business in the 
water, and begged the boys to excuse him. Per¬ 
haps they might make it convenient to call again. 
So off he glided seaward. 

Charlie was the first to head him off. The turtle 
snapped his horny jaws at him in quite an alarm¬ 
ing way. 

“ That’s dangerous,” said Charlie to himself, 
“ and I wouldn’t like my nose snicked off.” 

So, foolishly enough, he turned tail and barked 
at the monster over his shoulder. 

That was the turtle’s opportunity, and he didn’t 
let it slip, either. Next moment he had seized 
Charlie by his morsel of a crooked tail, and held 
on to it like a porous plaster. 

The poor dog seemed in a terrible state of mind, 
for it was evident enough that this delightfully 


46 Fighting For Cuba 

edible reptile meant taking him out to sea and 
drowning him. 

The boys rushed to his assistance and succeeded 
in turning the turtle. They turned Charlie too, 
though. When a turtle once seizes anything, noth¬ 
ing less powerful than a steam hammer can induce 
him to quit grips. 

So the turtle had to be knifed, an ugly, cruel 
looking operation. But he had bled quite to death 
before the terrible bill relaxed, and poor Charlie 
Chat was free to go and sit on the wet sand, to lick 
his wounded tail. The balance of the day the 
boys spent in fishing, in which they were very suc¬ 
cessful—taking home a large mess, which was en¬ 
joyed by all hands for dinner that evening. 

The Bonito now started homeward, but this time 
she took the South American route, passed through 
the Straits of Magellan and northward ho! to 
the sweet, green island of Cuba, where the}^ arrived 
in due time, after a pleasant but uneventful voyage. 


CHAPTER IV 

A Happy Meeting—Adeane Plays His First Card 

“ Know’st thou the isle when the lime-trees bloom, 

When the gold orange glows in thicket’s deep gloom, 

Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, 

And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose.”— Goethe* 

The villa or chalet, on the Isle of Pines,—which, 
as a peep at the map will show the reader—lies 
some distance to the southward of Cuba, and in 
about the same longitude as Havana, was the health 
resort of the Adeane family. It was also that of 
many other of the richer inhabitants of the large 
island, both Spaniards and Cubans. 

Pinos, as it is often called, is as beautiful as a 
midsummer’s dream, and those who visit it say that 
sickness can find no foothold on its shores. There 
you may be sheltered by its trees from the hottest 
sunshine, you may climb high up into its hills, the 
pinetrees, still around you, and be cooler, happier 
than below, but at night, sitting in the verandah of 
a villa, you are fanned by the bracing sea breezes, 
while moonlight or starlight shine soft o’er sea and 
land. 

I don’t think that anyone could spend a fort- 

47 


48 Fighting For Cuba 

night on this green gem of the ocean without feel¬ 
ing the better for it. 

When Captain Adeane left the West Indies, now 
more than a year ago, he had put a faithful old 
Spaniard lady in charge of his chalet, with one or 
two black servants to obey her behests and keep 
everything clean and in order. And now when he 
cast anchor in the little bay, he felt certain he 
would find her at her post, and probably sitting on 
her stool spinning silk, as of yore, and all alone 
with her cat. 

You may guess how surprised he was therefore, 
when the negro servants, followed by his wife and 
daughter Aileen, came hastily down to the jetty to 
welcome his coming boat, in which were Desmond 
in the stern sheets and Teddy handling the ribbons, 
to say nothing of Charlie Chat and Cheese, both 
looking ridiculously pompous and full of impor¬ 
tance. 

I pass over the greetings that took place, merely 
mentioning that Mrs. Adeane, still a beautiful 
woman, bade her husband welcome with the tears 
standing in her eyes. 

Nor were they altogether tears of joy. But 
now, hand in hand, brother and sister, husband and 
wife, made their way up the brae, through the trop¬ 
ical gardens, ablaze with beautiful flowers, crimson, 
white and blue, and into the drawing-room which 
opened by French windows on to the broad ve¬ 
randah. 


49 


A Happy Meeting 

The old housekeeper herself came in, bearing 
fruits and wine. She curtesyed low at the risk of 
capsizing the tray. 

u O senor,” she cried, smiling, “it is ourselves 
that are happy to see you. It was dead and 
drowned we thought you all. ,, 

Desmond had thrown himself on the floor with 
Siss beside him, and his head was pillowed on his 
mother’s lap, his mother’s hand in his raven hair. 

“ Dearest husband,” she said, after conquering her 
emotions somewhat, “ I am so happy I scarce can 
speak. Surely you will not leave us now that the 
war has commenced.” 

“War, Leanore? War? And is that what has 
brought you here ? ” 

“O dear, yes. We were afraid of our lives on 
the old plantation. We had visits from the in¬ 
surgents, you know. They were none too civil at 
first, but they left us in charge of their lieutenant 
after I assured him that we had their interest at 
heart and not that of the cruel double-dealing 
Spaniards.” 

Danny, as his wife called him, patted her hand 
and said with a somewhat sad smile: 

“ You spoke the truth, dear, and I don’t see what 
else you could have done, but—what followed ?” 

“ O! a visit from the Spanish soldiers, who are 
building little forts and barbed wire trochas every¬ 
where, up and down and across the island, and 
around every town or village of any size.” 


50 Fighting For Cuba 

44 And what said they ? ” 

44 Ah! Danny, I could not repeat their language, 
but for their officer, who, though rough-looking, 
was civil, I believe his men would have burned our 
hacienda and turned us adrift into the woods.” 

44 Dared they ? ” cried Adeane, almost savagely, 
44 they shall live to rue their kind intentions. But 
go on, never mind me. Passion will get hold of me 
when I think of the brutalities and bitter cruelties 
the poor Cubans have been subjected to for years— 
nay, ever since they were conquered by the thiev¬ 
ing and murderous Espanol.” 

44 1 will go on. But I almost fear to tell you of 
their behaviour. The officer then accused us of 
harbouring the insurgents or rebels. He said we 
had forfeited our lives, if strict martial jus¬ 
tice were to be meted out to us, but that he knew 
and respected you, Danny, and would pardon us.” 

44 His name, Leanore ? ” 

44 Colonel Bonaldo.” 

44 The meanest villain yet unhung. I’ll pistol 
him when we meet.” 

44 You’ll do nothing rash, husband, for our sakes. 
Peace I think will soon be restored, for already the 
insurgents are starving, and they are but poorly 
armed.” 

44 But the Spaniards, did they depart in peace ? ” 

44 Ho, Danny, and that is why we fled to this is¬ 
land. The colonel’s men broke into our cellars 
before they left and helped themselves to our best 


5 1 


A Happy Meeting 

wine. Then they became raving madmen. I hid 
poor wee Aileen in an inner cellar. She was very 
brave. And I with Hodson, the overseer, stood 
our ground bravely and at length with much sing¬ 
ing and shouting and waving of swords, firing their 
guns in the air as they went, they departed. 

“ But, gazing fearfully after them, I saw a dread¬ 
ful thing. Five men in a row deliberately fired 
their guns low among the roots of one of our ripest 
sugar-cane fields. The officer rushed forward lvith 
his drawn sword and cleft the skull of the nearest. 
It was too late, the field was fired and all the. 
beautiful woods nearby were soon hidden by white 
smok> and the sparks. 

“ And the servants, Leanore ? ” 

“ Alas! all have gone to join the insurgents with 
the exception of Hodson, a few women and old 
men. These went and hid themselves in the woods, 
when little black Dick ran in to tell us the soldiers 
were but a mile off and coming our way.” 

“This is sad news, dear wife. But, thank God, I 
have you and Aileen still. What matters it that 
the plantation has suffered a little. We shall go 
back theite at once. I shall take the Bonito into 
Santiago.” 

“ Are you not afraid ? ” 

“ Afraid ? Hay love, I fear nothing. Had you 
any difficulty in leaving ? ” 

“A little at first. We might have stolen away 
quietly, but that would have looked like guilty 


5 2 


Fighting For Cuba 


fright. Conducted by little Dick we went boldly 
to Santiago and called on the governor himself. I 
fear I told a little fib, Danny, I said that we were 
afraid of the insurgents.’’ 

Danny Adeane laughed. “You’ll be forgiven 
for that, I think. But listen, Leanore, when the 
Spaniards hear—as hear they will soon—that I 
have returned, and if I do not strike home for the 
plantation they will blame me or accuse me of 
being in league with the Cubans, and if they do we 
shall be far less safe here than at the hacienda.” 

“Nothing like putting a bold face on matters, 
dear. The Spaniards themselves are deceitful, I see 
no harm in paying them back in their own coi 1 . I 
am still rich, Leanore, and if the Philippine scheme 
succeeds, the loss of my Cuban estates shall not keep 
me long awake at nights.” 

****** 

On the wings of a spanking breeze, Captain 
Adeane with his dear ones all on board took the 
Bonito into Santiago harbour, a few days after his 
visit to the Isle of Pines. 

He was flying the American flag, but fust as the 
customhouse boat shoved off and he had cast 
anchor, he lowered it slowly and hoisted the beauti¬ 
ful orange ensign of Spain. 

He did this with reluctance, it is true, and was 
not certain in his own mind that it was right. But 
the priest and he had carefully considered the whole 


A Happy Meeting 53 

matter and talked it out the evening before. And 
between them they had adopted a policy. 

“For my children’s sake and my wife’s,” said 
Captain Adeane, “ I cannot alford to let my Cuban 
estates be captured. Assuredly the hacienda and 
plantation, all and whole, will be burned and we 
ourselves murdered if we do not keep on good terms 
with the dastardly Spaniards. We shall be pacifi- 
cos. But even pacificos you know, father, will be 
robbed and murdered now, if they are even sus¬ 
pected of having dealings with the insurgents. But 
I think I can manage it so that these Cubans shall 
not come near us.” 

“Besides,” said Father McDowney, “you are rich 
and I think that even the Spaniards can put a mil¬ 
lionaire to a better use than hanging him.” 

Adeane smiled rather grimly. 

“Thank heaven,” he said, “my gold is not in 
Spanish banks either in Santiago or in Havana. 

“ But I am going to make myself safe. I am an 
American and war will be declared ere very long. 
That is my belief and it will be time enough then 
to leave the island.” 

“If you aipe permitted. Would not your very re¬ 
quest for a passport lead the enemy to accuse you 
of being a spy, and at heart an insurgent.” 

Adeane laughed aloud. 

“ They wouldn’t be very far wrong, would they, 
father ? ” 

The Spanish revenue officers who came off were 


54 Fighting For Cuba 

most urbane and polite, and Captain Adeane and 
his wife treated them most hospitably. 

The Bonito remained at her anchorage for more 
than a week, receiving visitors and discharging 
cargo. Then the captain proceeded to play his 
first card. 

Under pretence that he did not consider himself 
safe from the warlike intrusion of the insurgents, 
he begged the authorities to grant him a few sol¬ 
diers to protect his plantation and his hacienda. 

He received just the answer which he expected. 
The military commander regretted his inability to 
spare a single man. 

“Could you not,” he said, naively, “land,and arm 
a portion of your own men ? ” . 

Adeane considered for a time, or pretended to, 
before he replied: 

“ I suppose I must,” he said, “ and having done 
so the craft can go with the rest to Havana. There 
she will be safe, happen what may.” 

He had not the slightest intention, however, of 
sending her to that town for a permanency. As for 
the injury done to the engines, although not such 
as could have been repaired at sea, ;it was not so 
great as had been imagined, and in a week’s time 
the Bonito was once more fit and strong. 

Now, wealth is very powerful in Britain, but in 
America, and in Cuba as well, it is all in all. 

Long-headed Captain Adeane gave a large party 
at a hotel on shore, at which the governor himself 


A Happy Meeting 55 

and the chief men of the city, but, above all, 
their wives were present. This entertainment cost 
him what might be considered a small fortune by a 
poor man. 

That night not only the millionaire and his chil¬ 
dren, but both Dr. Ramsay and Father McDowney 
were in great form. 

The party was the talk of the town for over a 
fortnight. There had been plenty of talk at the 
party, too. The wily millionaire was questioned by 
the governor himself—on the quiet of course—if 
there was really any probability of a war with 
America. 

Adeane laughed, as he lit a fresh cigar. 

He considered himself far too honourable a man, 
however, to tell a direct falsehood, though in my 
own humble opinion, deception is quite as bad as 
lying. 

He answered the question by putting another. 

“ Is there the slightest chance,” he said, “ of the 
sky falling and smothering the birds ? ” 

And Adeane, to say nothing of Father Mc¬ 
Downey, made very great friendship, even to the 
extent of flirtation with the ladies that evening. 

“ I’ll tell you something,” he said, to one beauti¬ 
ful woman who was conversing with him concern¬ 
ing the rebellion. “ I’ll tell you something, in confi¬ 
dence, mind, because I know you will not repeat it. 
The insurgents visited my hacienda during my 
absence and almost scared my dear wife and child 


56 Fighting For Cuba 

to death. But I am now going to turn my place 
into a fortification.” 

“ Indeed, Captain Adeane! ” 

The good lady was pleaded and interested. 

“ Yes, and with twenty of my brave fellows from 
the Bonito, out yonder, and the darkies whom I 
shall take from Santiago, to work upon the planta¬ 
tion, in lieu of those who have deserted it and 
stopped the work, I think I can make it hot for 
any enemy that shall dare to approach it.” 

The millionaire knew exactly what would hap¬ 
pen and the exact worth of the confidence that was 
to be reposed in this charming Spanish lady. In 
two days’ time the rumour was general, and it was 
openly stated in clubrooms that Adeane was going 
to stick to his old plantation, that his hatred of the 
Cubans was deep and strong, that war with Amer¬ 
ica was out of the question, and that the insurgents 
who were, after all, but an undisciplined mob, 
would soon lay down their arms. That, moreover, 
if certain concessions were made to them, and the 
ringleaders shot, beautiful Cuba, Spain’s richest pos¬ 
session, would soon be a happy and contented land. 

When they heard all this, Adeane and the priest 
had a right jolly laugh. 

Not on shore, though, for in these troublous 
times, in Santiago, every wall had ears, and a word, 
or even a look, would cause a man to be suspected, 
imprisoned, and in all probability, after a mock 
trial—shot. 


A Happy Meeting 57 

Well, the millionaire struck the iron while it was 
hot, and found not the slightest difficulty in obtain¬ 
ing a pass to protect him while crossing the wild 
country with his men and his negroes, carrying 
stores from the ship, of provisions, wine, arms and 
ammunition. 

The Bonito was now put in complete charge of 
the first mate. 

He was ordered to go to Havana under British 
colours, there to lay in a cargo. Thence he was to 
cross the Atlantic to Dublin. (Adeane was so 
thorough an Irishman that he cared not to let his 
vessel visit London.) In Dublin he was to lay in 
stores that would be useful in Pinos or on the 
plantation. 

Mr. Stapleton was given many other orders in 
writing and the last one was that on his return 
he should call nowhere, but make straight for the 
little sheltered bay above whose waters the chalet 
stood, and there lie until he received further com¬ 
mands from Adeane. 

So, away seaward, adown the beautiful bay 
steamed the good Bonito. Our young heroes and 
Dr. Bamsay stood where they were, on shore, until 
they had seen the last of her—let us hope not the 
very last—then, with a sigh, they turned away and 
went back to the hotel. 


CHAPTER V 


“A Free Cuba!—Down with the Dons!" 
That was the cry 

“ By oppressions, woes and pains, 

By our sons in servile chains. 

We will drain our dearest veins, 

But we shall be free! ”— Burns. 

About this time—the latter end of ’96, if my 
memory serves me well—the whole island of Cuba 
was in a state of great turmoil and uneasiness. 
The insurgents were “ out ” as the Scottish High¬ 
landers were in ’45, but not in the same way. 
Their principal objects seemed to be to carry on a 
kind of guerilla warfare and to harass their ene¬ 
mies, the Spaniards, in every way possible. 

Bands from either side might be met anywhere, 
so it was an undertaking of no small danger for 
Adeane to make his way eastward and north, with 
all his impedimenta, five and thirty miles or there¬ 
abouts. 

The roads were impassable, at present, for any¬ 
thing resembling a carriage. 

So Mrs. Adeane, Aileen and the maid, a bonnie 
blue-eyed young lassie from Limerick were borne 
along by the negroes in hammocks. 


"A Free Cuba.!—Down with the Dons / " 59 


The ladies had green palm leaves to cover their 
faces from the burning sun by day, and both Des* 
mond and Teddy McCoy kept for the most part 
trudging along by their side. 

So too did Father McDowney, and he often 
started a song which did much to cheer their 
hearts. So that the first day passed in a very 
happy and jolly way indeed. 

McDowney was used to camp life, and a full hour 
before the sun sank down behind the western hills 
in a glory of sky, such as we seldom witness in 
these sombre British Isles of ours, he had found a 
splendid pitch. 

Assisted by the men, fires were soon built, plenty 
of dry wood collected and the cooking of dinner 
commenced. In case it might come suddenly on to 
rain during the night, gipsy tents of boughs and 
broad palm leaves were erected for the ladies, inside 
which were hung their hammocks. 

Singular as it may seem, Cheese, the cat, had trot¬ 
ted alongside the party all day long, and now sat 
down contentedly by the fire to watch the cooking 
and warm his nose, for Cheese could do with a good 
deal of heat. Charlie Chat lay down close beside 
him, with his great chunk of a head on his two 
fore-paws and was soon fast asleep and snoring. 

The dinner—Irish stew—was voted a complete 
success. Sentries—armed to the teeth, were next 
spread all around the camp to give notice of the 
approach of strangers, if any such there should be. 


6o 


Fighting For Cuba 


But Adeane feared nothing. If visitors came 
and they proved to be Spaniards, he had his pass¬ 
ports. If they were insurgents he believed that he 
could easily deal with these also. 

“I consider this just too awfully romantic for 
anything,” said Desmond, with a happy smile. 

“And so do I, sure,” said Ted. “Just listen to 
the silence, Dessie! ” 

Everyone did “ listen to the silence,” for a min¬ 
ute or two. 

It was deep and impressive. Just the very light¬ 
est of breezes sighing or whispering through some 
royal palm-trees, whose strangely beautiful leaves 
were silhouetted far up against the starry^ sky. 
The mournful cry of an owl. One startling shriek 
from the neighbouring wood and that was all. 
The scream made Aileen tremble; so long, so ago¬ 
nising was it, dying away in sad cadence at last. 
But when assured that it proceeded from a night- 
bird she regained confidence. Bar these sounds, 
nothing was to be heard in all this land of solitude. 

“ Look ! Look ! ” cried Ted, after a time. “ Sure 
as I live there is a house on fire, just through the 
woods yonder! ” 

Adeane laughed. 

“ No, Ted my man,” he said, “ that is the moon.” 

Higher and higher she rose, getting more beauti¬ 
fully bright every minute, till the world around 
our heroes seemed almost as light as day. 

The camp had been pitched on high ground, and 


44 A Free Cuba !—Down with the Dons ! " 61 


now looking eastward the sleeping woodlands, the 
heights and hollows were seen to be bathed in 
a strange phosphorescent light till they were 
hemmed in by a range of distant mountains. 

IJere and there on the lowest lands, however, laj 
what appeared to be lakes. It was but the white 
mist rising from the ground and shimmering like 
water in the moon’s pale rays. It was indeed 
a lovely, almost a solemn scene. 

But it must not lead to melancholy. The good 
Father McDowney was determined it should not. 
And as soon as conversation began to flag, he got 
out his fiddle, and so with talking and with song 
the evening passed quietly, happily away until 
nearly ten when the ladies retired. 

The sentries were now doubled round the camp, 
the fire was kept up and the officers and men lay 
down to sleep on the cool ground, with their arms 
beside them. 

They were very tired and the drowsy god Mor¬ 
pheus required no second invitation to seal their 
eyes in slumber. 

But the night was not to pass without an adven¬ 
ture. 

It might have been well on in the middle watch, 
fully three in the morning, when all hands were 
suddenly awakened by the crack of a rifle. 

Then the voice of a sentry called, “ Stand. Come 
no farther without accounting for your presence! ” 

Every man Jack was now kneeling down ready to 





62 


Fighting For Cuba 

fire if an order was given, or if the camp was rushed 
upon by either Dons or rebels. 

But boldly forth strode Adeane himself to the 
front. He could see not thirty yards away a group 
of probably thirty men, mostly in white, with som¬ 
brero hats, and armed with guns and fixed bayo¬ 
nets. 

“ I am officer here; we are paeificos. Who are 

you ? ” 

A tall, soldierly-looking man, sword in hand, now 
advanced a little way waving back his comrades 
who seemed burning to attack. 

“And I am officer here” he said. “We are in¬ 
surgents.” 

“ Advance, friend, I am glad to see you,” said 
Adeane, and the colonel came on half-way. When 
the two met, hands were shaken, then after a brief 
conference the insurgent turned to his men. 

“ Stack arms,” he cried, and was instantly obeyed. 
What Adeane had told the colonel it is not in my 
power to say, but at all events it speedily brought 
about a peaceful solution to what might have proved 
a fatal and terrible encounter. 

“I have now told you, captain,” said Adeane, 
“ how we are situated. One moment, while I in¬ 
form the ladies of our party that we are safe, then 
J shall join you by the fire.” 

He did as he had proposed and was glad to hear 
his wife’s voice assuring him that they were not in 
the least afraid. 


"A Free Cuba, l—Down with the Dons l " 63 

The boys served out an allowance of both wine 
and bread to the newcomers, the rank and file of 
these settled round the fires built by the negroes, 
and the insurgent leader squatted down to hobnob 
and converse with Adeane, the doctor and the 
priest. 

“ No need to talk anything but English, gentle¬ 
men,” said the “ capitan.” “ I have been in your 
country and know your language well.” 

“ I am glad of it,” said Adeane, “ for though my 
good friend, Father McDowney, is conversant with 
many languages, I must confess my knowledge of 
Spanish is nothing to boast of. But success to 
you” 

He whispered some words in the Cuban’s ear. 

“A thousand thanks, senor. May God in His 
abundant mercy give us help, for man seems un¬ 
likely to come to the aid of this down-trodden 
though lovely land. A land that surely is worth 
fighting for.” 

“Your hopes must burn higher, capitan. Tell 
your chiefs from me when you go eastward, that 
America is but waiting an opportunity to quarrel 
with your oppressors. Our fleet is already getting 
fitted out for any eventuality. Till we are ready it 
would be vain to fight. Are Spain’s ships not 
double in number to ours ? Were they well-manned 
and better admiraled, our chance would be small 
and short our shrift.” 

* ; But, soldier,” continued Adeane, “ we have yet 


64 


Fighting For Cuba 

an hour or two till sunrise and your men had better 
move while it is still dark. Your doing so will keep 
me from trouble and therefore enable me to assist 
your cause later on. I should like to know then 
your own opinion of the causes that led to the in¬ 
surrection. Briefly.” 

“ Yes, I shall be very brief, though heaven itself 
only knows all our poor people have suffered.” 

Aldiros, for that was his name, paused for a mo¬ 
ment to glance at the fire and his face could now 
be seen well. A high crowned head with closely 
clipped black hair, a dark curled moustache, cheek¬ 
bones high and eyes large and wild-looking, yet 
very sad withal. He turned abruptly nex-t moment 
and faced his audience. 

“Gentlemen, I shall not enlarge on my own 
sorrows. I but place myself before you as an ex¬ 
ample. I am only one in a thousand who have 
suffered. 

“ A brief year ago I was a pacifico, living on my 
little estate in a pretty chalet with my dear wife 
and four charming girl children, the eldest only nine. 

“ I was suspected of harbouring insurgents, and 
marked down for destruction. At midnight our 
villa was attacked. Midnight on a moonlit night 
just like this. O, the horror of it! My wife and 
children were dragged from bed—I had not yet re¬ 
tired, but so quickly was the door burst in that I 
had no time even to draw my revolver. 

“ I should sicken you, did I tell you what hap- 


44 A Free Cuba !—Down with the Dons / " 65 


pened, but in one brief quarter of an hour my dar¬ 
lings were all weltering in their blood near our 
door. I saw thisnvith my own eyes. I was totter¬ 
ing with fear, and held by three Spaniards. A 
worse fate was doubtless to be reserved for me. 

“But suddenly, my friend, I went mad, so it 
seems to me now. I dashed the Spanish devils 
from me as easily as if they had been rats; my re¬ 
volver had not been taken away, and in a few sec¬ 
onds all three fell dead from where they had stood 
gaping in astonishment. I seized a sword, but before 
I left to run amuck, I remember jumping on their 
faces with my heels. Kemember too that rifles 
rang out in the still air, but the bullets flew harm¬ 
lessly past me. An attempt was made to surround 
me, but, sword in hand, I cut my way through their 
rascally ranks and escaped into the woods. 

“ How I lived for a night and day I cannot tell 
you, but next evening in the cold moonlight I left 
the jungle and made my way back to my ruined 
hacienda. 

“ All was quiet enough here, now. 

“ I procured a spade and digging a grave, laid 
my dead darlings side by side and filled it in. 

“ The shower of tears that now fell from my eyes 
doubtless saved my reason. 

“ But there, above the mortal remains of my mur¬ 
dered family, I raised my arms and eyes to heaven, 
and vowed vengeance on the man who had done 
them to death. 


66 


Fighting For Cuba 


“ Senor, I am going to keep that vow. 

“Senor, I am even now on his tracks. But, 
there! I must now pull myself together, for you 
and your reverend friend must deem me egotis¬ 
tical.” 

“ Alas! my friend, I know now something of the 
sufferings of the unhappy struggling Cubans. I 
need trouble you to say but little more. Surely the 
just judgment of heaven will fall upon your op¬ 
pressors.” 

“ Amen! ” said the Cuban. 

“ But only a few words more,” he added, “ and I 
have done. You have been long at sea and do not 
yet know enough, probably concerning the out¬ 
break of what I might call real hostilities.” 

CAUSES OF THE WAR 

“ After years of terrible persecution with brief in¬ 
tervals, during which, on the accession perhaps of a 
new government in Spain, there was a kind of lull; 
we were promised all sorts of reforms which were 
never carried out, and this caused us to lose all faith 
in our conquerors. There were men, traitors, 
among ourselves however, who pretended to be¬ 
lieve the Spanish, and time after time we were held 
back, or when we did manage to take the field 
these men trammelled us. The fights were short 
and blood} r . Our people were throttled or hanged 
before their children at their own cottage doors, the 
houses fired and finally all the family butchered. 


44 A Free Cuba !—Down with the Dons ! " 67 


“ W e could see then, that they, the enemy, meant 
to exterminate us root and branch, that Cuba might 
be a colony entirely and completely Spanish, to 
which the people might migrate. 

“ Two years ago they promised, what I may call, 
sweeping reforms. The bill of fare presented to 
our revolutionary leaders was so inviting, that 
many counselled that arms should be given up. 
Luckily, these men were in the minority. The 
others could see that if once disarmed, slavery, in¬ 
stead of freedom would be our doom. 

“ After this came unfortunately complete depres¬ 
sion in trade, and as you know, sir, for you must 
have suffered too, the stoppage of the great sugar 
industry. There was nothing for the mill hands to 
do now. They could not make up their minds to 
starve, and being paid off from the factories, they 
rushed in large bodies to join the standard of re¬ 
volt. 

“We were, however, encouraged to go on the war¬ 
path by the efforts of our fellow-countrymen in the 
United States. This perhaps you already are aware 
of.” 

“ I do know it,” said Captain Adeane. “ There 
were, while I still lived in Ireland upward of 50,- 
000 Cubans in America. Funds were raised to help 
you here to buy arms and ammunition, and some 
of the workmen would have given half their earn¬ 
ings for this object, had they been asked. ‘ A free 
Cuba! ’ That was their war cry, and 4 Down with 


68 


Fighting For Cuba 

the dastardly Spaniard! ’ I myself, capitan, had 
the honour of contributing a mite toward your free¬ 
dom.” 

“ God in heaven bless you, sir.” 

The Cuban grasped Adeane’s hand, and the tears 
were rolling down his cheeks. 

He dashed his hand across his face as if ashamed 
of his weakness, and when he started to his feet 
and drew his sword, pointing it skyward, he looked 
all a patriot, all a hero. 

“ By heaven! ” he cried, “ we shall be free ! ” 

His own men answered him with an exulting 
shout, and those of the Bonito joined heartily in. 

Had a body of Spaniards appeared at that mo¬ 
ment, even double in number to those brave fellows, 
not one would have been left alive to carry news 
to their camp. They might have had time to fire 
just one volley, then it would have been hand to 
hand and knife to knife, to the awful end. 

“ The day has come,” he said, more quietly, as he 
reseated himself by the fire. “ And the men have 
come. It is death or victory. That , we have 
sworn, and so tired and weary are some of us from 
the persecutions we have endured and the sorrows 
we have suffered, that we care not which it is.” 

“ Hay, nay, nay,” cried Adeane, laying a kindly 
hand on the capitan’s shoulder, “ do not be dis¬ 
couraged. You are fighting fearful odds, but as 
sure as yonder moon shines above us, happy days 
are in store for your poor bleeding land ! ” 


44 A Free Cuba !—Down with the Dons ! " 69 


“ Again, I thank you. We have put our hands to 
the plough; we must not look back. We began 
by riots—they were but little more in Mantanzas. 
Small riots. The fires of rebellion were thought to be 
extinguished, and virtually they were until we found 
brave leaders who knew something of organisation. 
We tried here, there and everywhere to carry 
destruction into the province of Santiago, the dis¬ 
trict where we are at present. To burn, to loot and 
to slay. Soon we were thousands strong, and this 
forest and mountain land suits us well. But the old 
revolutionary leader Maceo landed at last on the 
east from Costa Bico, and had with him a small, 
but determined band of exiles. Bold, good Maceo, 
a thorough Cuban, a mulatto, if yau please, but a 
man. 

“ Ah! my young boys, you may well listen and 
look,” he continued, addressing Ted and Desmond. 
“ The arrival of Maceo and his daring progress in¬ 
land is a bit of real romance. Maceo knew no fear. 
Strong, hardy and daring, he and his brave fellows 
pushed their way onward and westward from 
Baracoa—near to which they had landed without 
tents or covering—through woods and wilds, living 
on the fruit that grew around them, drinking 
only the water of the rills, often tired and very 
weary, yet oftentimes attacking and putting to 
rout double their number of the cowardly foe, 
though sometimes having to fly into dark glens, or 
into the forests or the mountains, because the 


yo Fighting For Cuba 

enemy was strong enough to have exterminated 
them. 

“ I was with a regiment of Cubans when Maceo 
arrived, after a whole fortnight of terrible suffering, 
during which his thirty followers had dwindled 
down to five. The others had been killed in battle, 
had been wounded and fallen into the enemy’s 
hands, or otherwise died by accident. 

“But the old leader Maceo had a glorious re¬ 
ception. lie was our man, and we meant to die for 
him if necessary, but it should be sword in hand. 

“Now under our Maceo we fought like fiends, 
and after many a hand-to-hand battle with the base 
Spaniards, I fear we took ugly revenge. Shoot 
our prisoners? No. Were we not wild beasts? 
Made so by cruelties it would be unlawful to name ? 
Did we not remember how our wives and daugh¬ 
ters suffered ? Did not the screams of our infants 
still resound in our ears as they were bayonetted 
before our eyes and pitched into the midst of our 
burning homes. Shoot them? No. We garrotted 
or knifed them, and if revenge is a sin, may heaven 
in its mercy forgive us. 

“ Then came more good luck for us, for a greater 
leader than even Antonio Maceo landed in the 
south, in the very centre of the enemy’s outposts— 
and this was brave Jose Marti, and with him was 
Gomez, and only a mere handful of followers. Not, 
I believe, a dozen in all. 

“Their journey toward the patriot’s camp was 


44 A Free Cuba.!—Down with the Dons ! " 71 


another piece of romance, so many narrow escapes 
had they. Gomez himself told me that more than 
once while hiding in caves in the glens, pickets 
passed them so closely that he might have stretched 
a hand out and clutched one by the leg. To their 
disgrace and dishonour, be it told, these patrols 
were frequently drunk. 

“ One evening Jose and Gomez had a very narrow 
escape. The two were by themselves in a cave, 
their only companions being snakes and other loath¬ 
some reptiles, when a band of Spaniards stopped at 
the bushes in front. 

“ 4 ’Twas here they disappeared!’ cried one. 4 Let 
us search the cave.’ 

44 Gomez and his companion silently drew their 
swords, and raised them ready. Their time had 
come, they thought, but they would sell their lives 
dearly. The price should be Spanish blood. But 
at that moment two birds from over the head 
dashed out right into the very faces of the foe. 

44 4 Come on,’ cried another of the picket, 4 there is 
no time to waste. Birds don’t roost where men 
hide. They are farther ahead. Come.’ 

44 You see, Captain Adeane, God sent His wild 
birds to save our gallant leaders. 

44 But now, my friend, the day will soon break, so, 
for your safety, as well as our own, we must to 
horse and ride away.” 

44 1 do not wish you, capitan, to get into danger, 
but it still wants half an hour of sunrise. The 


7 2 


Fighting For Cuba 


Spanish dull-heads are still wrapt in slumber. Have 
one more cup of wine and speak with me a little 
longer.” 

“ I shall, even should we have to fight our way 
back to camp. 


CHAPTER VI 


44 Oar Fleet Horses Will Speedily Bear Us Far 
Away " 

** Wha wad be a traitor knave ? 

Wha wad fill a coward’s grave ? 

Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Let him turn and flee.”— Burns. 

“You may easily guess,” continued this brave in¬ 
surgent officer as he coolly rolled a cigarette, “ that 
both Jose and Gomez received a hearty welcome 
when at last they reached our camp. The word 
went out like wild-fire, and our army got bigger 
and bigger every day, till it reached ten thousand 
gallant men, every one of them, without brag or 
boast, willing to lay down his life for poor, bleed¬ 
ing Cuba. 

“Splendid horses we had too, yes, and have. 
Your Don can ride no better than a ticket-clerk, but 
the Cuban and his steed are both as one. 

“ And the Dons soon learned that they had their 
hands full now, and sent, with all the haste possible, 
for reinforcements, which finally arrived, some 
thirty thousand strong. A new governor was also 
appointed, but alas! before this a great misfortune 
befell the patriots. For Jose Marti was shot dead 

73 


74 Fighting For Cuba 

in an unexpected fight, and Gomez himself was 
wounded. 

“ But, compared to the Spaniards, we were but 
poorly armed, and the want of ammunition kept us 
from dealing them many a deadly blow. 

“ Nevertheless we knew every inch of the country 
far better than they did. Their silly forts and 
trochas do not alarm us. We cut the latter and 
fire the former whenever we come across them. 

“We come down on the Spaniards like a whirl¬ 
wind, when they least expect us, a volley or two is 
fired, then it is slash and cut and thrust. If we 
disperse them, well and good. If they are too 
strong, we disappear as quickly as we came, carry¬ 
ing with us our dead and wounded, and quite as 
often as not a few of their rifles, and packets of 
cartridges. 

“ Gomez was soon well enough to mount his horse 
once more, and lead us in the fight. His wound 
was not healed, however, and it would sometimes 
break out afresh. With my own eyes, senor, I 
have seen the blood dropping from his saddle as he 
rode into action. 

“ Gomez was worth a thousand men in a fight, and 
victory invariably honoured that part of the field 
on which he rode. 

“ The main object of Gomez was to capture Cama- 
guey, the scene of a former conflict. 

“The people here, however, dreaded the Dons. 
They were soft if not cowards. He invaded it 


44 Our Fleet Horses will Bear us Away " 75 

nevertheless, and though sick in soul and body, 
and suffering great pain, he almost lived in the 
saddle. 

“ Even the Camagueans took heart when they saw 
how determined Gomez was. 

u And the invasion of this district, which the Dons 
themselves deemed so important, was completely 
successful. I hardly think that the Spaniards 
triumphed in a single fight. Gomez swept every¬ 
thing before him, filling his coffers too, his distant 
stores of food, and his ammunition waggons. 

“ Campos was the Spanish leader, and he certainly 
did his best to foil Gomez, in every way he could. 
Gomez raised a war-fund, and the crops and mills 
of all farmers who did not contribute to this were 
to be destroyed, and sugar-mills burnt.” 

“ Mine is safe, I think! ” said Adeane, smiling. 

“ True, senor, and your excellent overseer well 
knows the reason why. 

“ Gomez now ordered all railway lines and wires 
to be destroyed. Forts were to be attacked and 
looted of arms and ammunition, a general guerilla 
warfare carried on in fact, and the Dons were to 
be slain on sight. But discretion is the best part of 
valour, and Gomez knew it. He would not sacrifice 
his men needlessly, by attacking forts or divisions 
of the enemy where success was highly improbable 

“ Time is too short to tell you all the adventures 
of Gomez, and how manfully and skilfully he 
fought, for the Lord Ilimself seemed on his side, 


Fighting For Cuba 


76 

while the war was carried westward to Santa 
Clara, and to Mantanzas itself. 

“From a mere guerilla war, or war of harassment, 
it became a war in the open fields, senor. Though 
the leader, Don Campos, had latterly about one 
hundred thousand men in the field, he could make 
no headway at all against the insurrection, while 
on the other hand, the rebels as they were inso¬ 
lently called, were elated by their victories, for, 
small though these might be, compared to the 
great and terrible battles of European nations, 
they were important, and not a man was there in 
the forces of Gomez who did not expect the day to 
come when Cuba would be free, and from end to 
end clear of its dastardly enemies. 

“ There is a fiend,” continued the insurgent cap¬ 
tain, “ called General Weyler, who came upon the 
scene in February, ’96. Hated and despised by 
Cubans of every caste, for the terrible atrocities 
he had committed in Camaguey during a former 
war. 

“ One look at this fellow’s sinister barbarous face, 
around which a real smile never yet curled, would 
tell you that he was cast in the mould of a mur¬ 
derer and villain. 

“Weyler informed the people of Havana that he 
would soon make short work of the rebels, and 
clean the land of them. 

“ This was but an empty boast, for Gomez and 
bold Maceo joined forces; the former had come 


" Our Fleet Horses <0)111 Bear us Away " 77 

from the east, the latter from the west, and both 
had carried out the same tactics of laying waste 
the countries through which they passed, that the 
Dons might be deprived of their revenue. The 
workmen from the stricken fields had joined, and 
so increased their armies. 

“Weyler was a splendid hand at massacre and 
torture, especially when he encountered women 
and helpless children, but, when he or his men 
faced Gomez, Maceo or the bandit Bermudez, his 
courage oozed out at the toes of his boots, and his 
generalship proved mere braggadocio. 

“ Gomez fought splendidly and carefully. Return¬ 
ing to Camaguey, for example, he encountered 
General Castillanos. This officer had a little army 
of considerably over two thousand so-called ‘ men.’ 
Gomez had six hundred heroes, many well mounted. 

“ The affair was a glorious one for the arms of 
our general, and Castillanos with his apologies for 
soldiers, fled in cowardly confusion from the field, 
leaving behind him two hundred and fifty killed 
and wounded, while Gomez’s losses were insignifi¬ 
cant. 

“ The insurgents, to tell you the truth, would have 
slain every wounded man, had not kind-hearted 
Gomez soon put an end to so shocking a butchery. 

“But misfortunes befell poor Maceo, for Weyler, 
at the head of thirty thousand men, marched to¬ 
ward the west, and the country devastated by our 
brave general. Half starved, many of our men de- 


78 


Fighting For Cuba 

serted. But Gomez managed, by a supreme effort, 
to cross a river and enter a Havana province, 
where he ordered a concentration of troops. But, 
alas! that I should have to tell it, before the ar¬ 
rival of the forces he was led into an ambush, and 
fell before a volley from the bush-hidden Dons. 

“ Thus died our great general. He was one of a 
family of eight or nine brave fellows, every one of 
whom had lost their lives in this grand struggle 
for freedom. 

“This devil, Weyler,—I trust, senor, the ladies 
cannot hear me—succeeded in laying utterly waste 
the province of Pinar del Bio, and one or two 
others. This he called pacifying them. 

“And now, the world-hated and despised Weyler 
proceeded to pacify the province of Mantanzas, 
lying, as you know, to the immediate east of Ha¬ 
vana, in the same way. He was a liar as well as an 
assassin, and his bulletins sent in, and sent home to 
Spain, represented battles bravely fought and won, 
in which he said he lost but ten or twenty men, 
but slew ‘the rebels’ in hundreds. How what 
were the rebels he slew ? Why innocent pacificos, 
old men, women and children, dragged from their 
beds at the midnight hour, and butchered beside 
their burning homes. O God! it was a fearful 
time. Ay, and is ! 

“ Even the women and children—who were made 
prisoners, all for sham and show—were taken into 
the Spanish towns, only to undergo contumely, ill- 


44 Our Fleet Horses will Bear us Away " 79 


usage and starvation from which, with its accom¬ 
panying fever, they died a horrible death in streets, 
in gutters and in ditches. 

“ But the United States, hearing of all this and ac¬ 
quiring the true version of the story of Weyler’s 
diabolical deeds, made strong and even threatening 
representations to the home government of Spain, 
and Weyler has been ordered home, Blanco, a 
former general of the Philippine Islands, reigning 
in his stead. 

“One of Weyler’s plans was to lay waste the 
country all around the principal towns, to disarm 
or murder the men, or cause honest pacificos to join 
the insurgents and drive the rest into fortified 
places around these cities, with their women and 
children, if they could not find a worse use for them. 

“This plan, it is needless to say, was simply a 
cruel and more horrible method of utter ex¬ 
termination than death by sword or pistol would 
have been. 

“ Blanco promised a more humane policy, and the 
prisoners would be allowed to cultivate the fields 
that they and the women and children might live; 
but ah ! could you but see these inclosures as I have 
done while a spy; see the sickness, the starvation, 
the utter misery of the people therein, it would 
cause your heart to bleed. And why should such 
terrible punishments be meted out to men and 
their families, whose greatest fault is their wish to be 
free?” 


8 o 


Fighting For Cuba 

“Why, indeed,” said Adeane, in a voice modu¬ 
lated by pity and by sorrow. “ This is indeed a 
terrible world. But cheer up, my friend, I trust we 
shall meet again when brighter days shine on poor 
distracted Cuba.” 

“ Thank and bless you, Senor Adeane, and now 
good-bye. Our fleet horses will speedily bear us 
far, far away from here.” 

“ Adios! ” 


CHAPTER VII 


The Old Plantation Home—Strange Adven¬ 
tures 

“ Where’er I roam, whatever realms I see, 

My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee. 

“ Such is the patriot’s boast, where’er we roam, 

His first best country, ever is at home.”— Goldsmith. 

The insurgent captain and his merry men glided 
away as they had come, like ghosts in the moon¬ 
light. Their horses were shod and trained with a 
view to making as little noise as possible. They 
were speedily beyond a far-off wood, and were seen 
no more. 

“ It’s all so sad! ” said Father McDowney. 

“Sad indeed,” returned Adeane, “but did not 
Ireland, our own dear land, come through the self¬ 
same troubles ? ” 

“ True, true! ” 

“ But come, Desmond, and you Ted, awake the 
men. See yonder is the red sun peeping over the 
eastern woods. We must breakfast as soon as pos¬ 
sible and be off. I long to see the old hacienda, if 
indeed it is not already demolished. Heigho ! ” 

“Ho sighing! ” exclaimed Father McDowney. “ I 

81 


82 


Fighting For Cuba 


won’t have it, Captain Adeane, at any price at all. 
See yon star still scintillating in the far west, that 
the rising sun has not yet extinguished. It is like 
the eye of God, and it is smiling kindly on this dis¬ 
tressed country. As for the dead, my friend, their 
troubles are over. But, really, you know, the 
Christian never dies.” 

“ Thank you, father, I’ll keep up a good heart, 
never fear.” 

In less than an hour the camp was struck, 
though the tents were left standing; and perhaps 
that is rather an Irish way of putting it. 

The journey was commenced, and they meant, if 
all went well, to reach home by afternoon. 

How beautiful was the day, how all-too-bright 
the sunshine. The sky was as blue now as the 
woods were green and lovely. It would take a 
clever pen indeed, to give in a book like this, even 
an epitome of their surprising beauty. 

They were woods not only of splendid palm-trees, 
but of flowering shrubs in glorious undergrowth, 
and ferns of every shape and size. And fruit, there 
was here also in great abundance, and many kinds 
may be gathered all the year round. 

Then the birds, though their song-lilts may not 
be so loud and melodious as those of our own in 
brave Britain, are here arrayed in colours that rival 
the rainbow. The lizards themselves are a show, 
and though some in shape and appearance—such as 
the iguana and a few species of the chameleon with 


Strange Adventures 83 

their stalky eyes—may be called horrid to behold, 
creatures such as one may see in dreams while ill of 
fever, still nature has been careful to paint the rest 
in colours, which, when at rest, cause them to look 
like gorgeous flowers. Sea-green, orange and ver¬ 
milion, I think, predominate most. 

Well if our heroes did have any danger to en¬ 
counter to-day apart from that of meeting a band 
of raiding Spaniards, who might rob and even mur¬ 
der them, it was when fording some streams that 
were well known to be haunted by the dreaded 
and dreadful cayman or alligator. 

So timid were the ladies when they arrived at a 
ford that Adeane caused the negroes to form in two 
rows, one above and one below the crossing place, 
and flop the water with branches while the white 
people passed. 

But many caymans ventured quite close up to the 
poor blacks, snapped fearful jaws and seemed 
almost inclined to attack. 

The exit of the negroes at last was a sight to see. 
They kept up the flopping and shouting as they 
backed toward the opposite bank, but when near 
it, a general panic took place. Then shrieking 
with terror they scrambled helter-skelter up and 
out. 

“Tank de heabenlay fadder,” said one nigger, 
after the lot had got safely over the last ford, “ de 
’gators no catchee me! ” 

“ Humph ! ” said another, tossing his black head, 


84 Fighting For Cuba 

“what foh de ’gator no catchee you? You on’y 
common trash. De ’gators lub good food. Bah ! ” 
****** 

Hillo! here is the beautiful hacienda in sight, 
while the sun is still high in the heavens. 

Everyone—as the party emerges from a wood— 
looks happy now. 

“Not a bit altered,” sa}^s Adeane, “only the 
burnt sugar-cane fields.” 

Hodson himself—the overseer—comes joyfully 
out to meet them. He is on horseback, and so are 
half a dozen sturdy Cubans who have stuck to him 
through all the evil days. Hodson while still two 
hundred yards away must lift his hat and cheer, and 
the echo he receives from Adeane and his men re¬ 
sounds from hill to hill. 

On their entrance through the great gates that 
more immediately surrounded the hacienda, or 
beautiful Cuban villa, Adeane was astonished to 
find the gardens and flower-beds, and all the splen¬ 
did shrubberies looking so clean and neat. Even the 
broad walks, bordered by gorgeous palms and 
flowering habiscus were a sight to see. Never a 
weed anywhere. 

Smiling and happy now the worthy captain 
turned to Hodson for an explanation. 

Smiles breed smiles, and Hodson laughed as he 
replied: 

“You see it was like this, sir, when my Cuban 
fellows left—all but those you see and the women 


Strange Adventures 85 

negresses and old men—in droves we found we 
could not carry on the mill. Indeed the Spaniards 
who have paid us several visits threatened that if 
we did so, in the absence of the family, they would 
burn us down. 

“ So as I could not kick against the pricks, as the 
good priest here might say, I determined to set the 
men to work in the gardens and all around, and I 
am truly glad, sir, you think we have made a good 
job of it.” 

“ I am delighted and so—I can see—are my wife 
and daughter.” 

“ The mill, too, sir, is well in order. No rust 
there, and if you choose we can set to work to¬ 
morrow.” 

“Thank you, Hodson. We’ll see; and I have 
that in my grip-sack which I think will protect me 
from the insolence or attacks of even the Spaniards 
themselves.” 

This hacienda was just such a house as could not 
be built and kept up in beautiful form in England 
or Scotland itself. 

It looked with its white walls and its portico 
draped in trailing flowers like a fairy domain. In¬ 
side it was furnished in character. The rooms were 
all lofty with depending punkahs, and the tasteful 
paintings on the walls, with their well-chosen light 
framed pictures, made everyone feel cool. 

Mrs. Adeane found, to her delight, that all the 
bedrooms were quite ready for occupation, so she 


86 


Fighting For Cuba 


called the female servants, black and bronze, and 
thanked them right heartily for their thoughtful¬ 
ness. 

“ Ah! ” said one pretty Cuban girl, who like the 
rest was dressed with great care but simplicity. 
“ It is not we you must thank. It is the big man 
Hodson.” 

She laughed as she continued, “ He come in to 
the housekeeper’s room; same time we all sit and 
talk. ‘ Off with you girls,’ he cry, ‘your old missus 
and the dear young one and Desmond too, they all 
come home. Clean, dust, sweep, wash and bee-you- 
tee-fy everything. I’ll give you three days and if 
by that time the whole house isn’t as bright as a 
new dollar, I’ll start the mill and feed you all 
through it, and you’ll all come out as flat as pan¬ 
cakes.’ ” 

Aileen and her mother both laughed, for Fatima 
was a great favourite with everyone, especially be it 
just hinted with Dick Hodson himself, and there 
had been a rumour once that went all over the 
plantation that at no very distant date, they would 
get married. 

Indeed it had gone so far, that Captain Adeane 
himself had promised his faithful overseer a rise in 
salary and a cottage to himself on the day he 
should lead Fatima to the altar. But the terrible 
war had put everything out of everybody’s head— 
well, apparently. 


Strange Adventures 87 

Though only fourteen, Aileen was a very beauti¬ 
ful girl indeed. She had the blue Irish eyes of 
mother and father, albeit her hair would have given 
one the idea she had Spanish blood in her veins. 
She considered herself far too old, however, to ride 
on Teddy McCoy’s back as she used to. 

I should not say Teddy perhaps, but Ted, bold 
big Ted, who was nearly a man in years, and in wis¬ 
dom and bravery or pluck considered himself to be 
no chicken indeed. 

Nevertheless now that they were once more set¬ 
tled in the dear old hacienda, they all found time to 
take many a ramble, both in forest and in fields. 
But they had strict orders that though they might 
fish and study botany—which they did on the days 
the priest went with them—they must never ven¬ 
ture far from the hacienda. The country was in 
so terribly an unsettled and lawless condition, that 
to do so, would have been very far from safe indeed. 

The hacienda with its broad fields and its 
negro village not a great way off was on high 
ground, and on a bright day the view that was 
caught from its upper windows was very entranc¬ 
ing. The country far to the south was a rolling 
one, hill and dell, and sheets of water with many a 
stream meandering through it like silvery threads 
among the green. Farther north were the moun¬ 
tains and these were clad in primeval forest and 
often formed the hiding-places of the insurgents, 
and cf poor wretches who were driven from their 


88 


Fighting For Cuba 

homes by the persistent brutality of the hateful and 
hated Spaniards. 

The plantation indeed had been originally a clear¬ 
ance in the forest, and the land was fresh soil for 
the sugar-cane and for the beautiful tobacco plant 
as well. But about two miles from the hacienda, 
and down in a deep dark dingle, or defile, sparsely 
covered with wood, was a small lake which gave a 
tributary to a river not a great distance off. 

Many lovely water-fowl used to alight here, but 
Dick Straw, a pet negro servant, told the boys one 
evening that lately a huge cayman or alligator had 
taken up his abode and pulled down the ducks 
daily. 

“ Suppose you catchee he! ” said Dickie. 

It was a terrible temptation for the boys to re¬ 
sist. They fought against it for a time, but finally 
Desmond said, 

“ How could we kill him, Dickie ? ” 

“ Yes, Dickie, how could we catch the beast ? ” 
said Ted. 

The boys had fallen. They would disobey. Ah! 
well, let us be lenient; we can’t put old heads on 
young shoulders. 

“ Catchee he,” cried Dickie. “ Foof! plenty 
quick. One rope, one bit of chain, and one baby 
for bait. Dat am how to catchee he. Den we 
draw up and shoot.” 

“ What! ” cried Desmond, “ a baby ? O, Dickie, 
go away at once.” 


Strange Adventures 89 

But Dickie Straw only laughed. 

“ All same one nigger baby,” he answered. “ Out¬ 
side clothes, inside one big piece of po’k (pork), and 
one big hook. De ’gator smellee he, once, twice. 
Den he snap! ” 

So it was all arranged. The priest would not be 
told, but Aileen was, and determined to make one 
of the party. 

At the appointed time the three were not far 
from the side of the little dark lake, and waiting 
for Dickie Straw. It was quite early on a beauti¬ 
ful morning, just the time when ’gators, like little 
boys, are hungry. Presently through the trees 
Dickie himself was seen coming along, nursing his 
pork baby in its long clothes, and making believe 
to sing it to sleep, by a song of his own composi¬ 
tion, for Dickie Straw was a negro bard and poet 
laureate of the whole plantation. 

" O, I deahly lub de life we all does lead, 

On de ole plan—ta—shee—on 
An’ de ’gator boots dat ole massa wears 
When massa’s got he on 

Ye-ee—O ! Sleep my Joe, 

My leetle po’k baby O ! 

Ye-ee! ” 

The last “ye-ee ! ” was a shrill quivering scream, 
and next moment Dick Straw had placed “ de chile ” 
in Ted’s arms, with orders to throw it far out into 
the lake. 

Honest Charlie Chat, whose smile was almost as 


9 ° 


Fighting For Cuba 


broad as a ’gator’s, licked his lips and sniffed the 
baby. He would not have objected to go halves 
with the cayman. 

Next moment there was a splash in the water, 
and a huge nose appeared above the dark deep 
water. 

“ Frow de baby, now, Massa Ted,” cried Dickie, 
much excited. “ Frow he quick.” 

That cayman was very tame, and snapped the 
bait at once. 

“No draw in yet, wait,” shouted Dickie, as he 
rushed away with the rope and made it fast with a 
round turn about a tree. In a few minutes that 
cayman appeared above water. He was caught 
and knew it. 

They tried to land him, but it was found impos¬ 
sible, so while Dickie held the rope Ted and Dess 
seized their rifles and settled down to serious shoot¬ 
ing, and in a few short minutes the ’gator’s horrible 
form floated dead above the water and was easily 
enough dragged to the side. 

Dickie quickly rounded in the slack of the rope 
and again made fast, and so the dead monster was 
anchored, and there would be left until men from 
the hacienda should go to bring home his skin. 

Back through the beautiful woods they now 
started, but settled in a green glade not far up, to 
discuss a humble repast, for which the excitement 
and their exertions had given them ample appetites. 

They were just finishing with some delicious 


Strange Adventures 91 

fruit when Aileen gave a little shriek, and looking 
in the direction in which her frightened eyes were 
bent, behold! two of the ugliest ruffians that one 
ever beheld. Machetes hung by their sides and 
they carried a gun each. 

“Who are you?’’ cried Ted. “Spaniards or 
rebels ? ” 

“Neither, my friend,” replied the bigger and 
uglier. “We are noble subjects of King Loot. 
Hand over your watches, your jackets and that 
young and very sweet girl’s mantle. Ha! I’ve a 
good mind to kiss her.” 

Ted was a brawny young athlete. He could put 
up his fifty-six-pound weight, five times in succes¬ 
sion and not get red in the face. 

The allusion to Aileen fired his blood, and no 
panther ever sprang on his prey with greater vim 
than he went for that bandit. The other villain 
fired point blank at Dess—and missed. 

He had no time to load again, for Charlie Chat 
and brave Desmond attacked. Down he went 
howling for mercy. 

“ Run home with Aileen,” cried the lad to Dick. 

Dickie Straw needed no second invitation. 

Ted had twisted the gun from his enemy’s hands 
before a sailor could have twice said binnacle. It 
went off in the air. He tossed it away, then con¬ 
fronted the hulking half-caste bandit. He had 
cast his jacket and looked—as he lifted his “ fives ” 
—in prime form. The fellow didn’t like that waj 


92 Fighting For Cuba 

of fighting and was about to draw his machete 
when he was levelled with a stunning blow between 
the eyes, and he bellowed for mercy. 

Ted relieved him of his weapon. Dess did the 
same by his man. The dog was called off, and the two 
young fellows, rifles in hand, levelled at the bandits’ 
heads, sat quickly down to await developments. 

No one spoke, but the villains knew they were 
caught. 

It was one whole hour before Dickie Straw re¬ 
turned with six white men from the plantation. 

The prisoners were at once bound, and marched 
to the hacienda, and that same evening were sent 
with a strong escort to the nearest Spanish camp, 
and delivered over to justice, with Senor Adeane’s 
compliments. 

What became of them our heroes never found 
out. The Spanish officer was pleased to have them, 
that is all, and told the escort that they had been 
very much wanted indeed. 

It is within the bounds of possibility that they 
made soldiers of these subjects of King Loot, but it 
is far more probable that they hanged them on the 
nearest and most comfortable tree and finished off 
by riddling their bodies with shot. 

It is needless to add that Desmond and Ted were 
both forgiven. 

****** 

There is very little good, or evil either, that 
m wey cai* ot affect in this world, and strange as 


Strange Adventures 93 

it may appear, it is nevertheless true that Adeane’s 
sugar-mills were soon once more in operation. He 
did not care to sell; he dared not export, except 
under ruinous conditions, but he could store. And 
that he did, although his men were working but 
half time. 

It may be said by some that Adeane’s ethics were 
not of the highest order, as he was really playing a 
double game: pretending a friendship with the 
Spaniards that he did not feel, yet at the same 
time, doing all he could to help the insurgents. 
Well, the probability is that any other millionaire 
would have tried to save his property and estates 
in Cuba in precisely the same way. His losses had 
been very great of late years and he had a nervous 
dread of losing far more. But it must not be for¬ 
gotten that he was in a strange land, and that his 
tender Irish heart could not help melting at the sor¬ 
rows and sufferings of the unfortunate Cubans. 

Weyler had decided upon laying waste the whole 
island, as we have already seen, and therefore the 
non-belligerents had been ordered into the cities or 
commanded to live in a place set apart for them 
near these. “ To live,” did I say ? Hay, but to 
die, or starve and rot of fever. 

It was a blessing for Cuba when the wretched in¬ 
habitants saw the last of so foul a fiend as Weyler. 

For a month or two life on the old plantations 
went on much as it had done before the war, and 
everyone was contented and happy enough. 


94 


Fighting For Cuba 

Then news came from far over the sea—from 
New York itself, indeed, that America was waken¬ 
ing up and that war was now inevitable. 

The Spaniards would do nothing wisely, nor 
take any good advice, but were determined, they 
said, to carry the civil war on to the bitter end, 
should that not come for years. 

And now Adeane’s sympathies took a new form. 
He determined to assist the insurgents with a 
money loan. He first and foremost sought the ad¬ 
vice of great statesmen in America, and waited for 
their reply. That came, in spite of the Spaniards, 
and it was in Adeane’s favour. 

But who could be trusted to take money to the 
insurgents ? Hodson ? Yet, he could ill spare him. 

Desmond was as brave a lad as ever trod the 
decks of a British or American ship, and the boy of 
barely sixteen determined to offer his services. 
Nay, but he did more; he told his father plainly 
that unless he should be allowed to visit the insur¬ 
gent leaders with the assistance of which they stood 
so much in need, he would leave the hacienda and 
join their ranks as a humble private. 

At last his parents consented. 

Well, boys have done far more daring deeds than 
that on which Desmond was now to embark. 

The enemy, or in other words, the Spaniards 
were now to the east of the hacienda and it was 
deemed impossible to cross their lines or to rush the 
barbed wire trochas. 


Strange Adventures 95 

Desmond had thought the whole thing out in bed, 
and next morning presented his plans to his father. 
All he wanted was the money—no small sum, in¬ 
deed, though it was not in gold—and the loan of 
his parent’s pass, which had been signed at San¬ 
tiago. 

On the morning after, he bade his mother and 
sisters farewell—both were in tears—and started 
on horseback for Santiago. 

And we, too, must leave the plantation for a time 
and follow the adventures of this brave and clever 
lad. 


CHAPTER VIII 


44 Then Desmond Felt That His Hour Had 
Come” 

u The boy stood on the great ship’s deck, 

Beside his captain brave; 

The waves were roaring all around, 

Beneath—a watery grave. 

et * Go, save yourself,’ the captain cried, 

* You’re far too young to die,’ 

But—calm—replied the sailor lad, 

* When you go, so shall I.’ ”—Loss of the Victoria. 

Had you met my youngest hero, Desmond Adeane, 
in a drawing-room, you would have seen nothing in 
either his face or bearing to lead you to suppose he 
was very brave. You would have put him down as 
a gentle and refined boy, kind and good, handsome 
enough, but of a somewhat shy and retiring dis¬ 
position. 

And yet at heart he was a young lion. 

Nor do I think that boys like this are extremely 
rare in our navy (mercantile or royal) or in the 
navy of the United States. 

I look upon the poem by Mrs. Ilemans, com¬ 
mencing, 

“ The boy stood on the burning deck, 

Whence all but him had fled; 

The flame that lit the battle’s deck, 

Shone round him o’er the dead-” 


96 


His Hour Had Come 


97 


as simply a very pretty flight of imagination. But 
I could quote many, very many, true instances of 
real heroism in boys of even fifteen. 

What about the dear lad that stood on the bridge 
of our grand but unfortunate man-o’-war, H. M. S. 
Victoria, beside his captain. 

“ Save yourself, save yourself, my boy,” cried the 
captain to his midshipman. 

Then came the quiet reply: 

“ JSTo, sir, if you are to go down in the ship, I 
shall go too.” 

And both sank with the foundering man-o’-war. 

I read with much amusement the other day the 
account of the ensign who was sent on shore to in¬ 
form the governor of a certain Spanish town in 
Cuba, that if he did not surrender the place at once, 
the United States man-o’-war outside would bom¬ 
bard it. 

This lad, as the story goes—and I have not the 
slightest reason to doubt its authenticity—was not 
over fifteen, and he was small for his age. Small, 
but full of grit and fire, and perhaps even a trifle 
cheeky, which is excusable at this time of life. 
Doubtless he wore his side arms, and a revolver 
and as the boat pulled swiftly away from the 
ship’s side he stood in the stern sheets with the 
rudder ribbons in his hands, and the Stars and 
Stripes floating behind — 

« The flag that means to brave a thousand years, 

The battle and the breeze.” 


Fighting For Cuba 


98 

Perhaps there was a bit of a coral bar to get over, 
with big seas and breakers roaring and swelling 
thereon. But the boat would jump it and go in on 
the largest roller. 

“ In bow! ” I think I hear him shout as she gets 
nearer to the shore. “ Way enough! Oars! ” 

And the gig scrapes the shingle. 

Accompanied by one of the men he marched 
straight to the governor’s house. 

“ I want to see the governor immediately.” 

A gray-haired Spanish official came quietly into 
the office. 

“ Si, senor, but I regret to say His Excellency is 
two miles from here. But we can get a carriage, and 
I shall drive you to him.” 

“ Drive me! ” cried the bold ensign, with his 
hand on the hilt of his dirk. “ How dare you ad¬ 
dress me so! I stand here, sir, the representative 
of one of the greatest naval powers on earth. Ho, 
you shall fetch him here, and quickly too. I shall 
remain till he comes.” 

The old man is said to have trembled, but he 
obeyed orders, and in a comparatively short time 
the governor arrived, all bows and politeness. 

“ I have short time to parley,” cried the 
young ensign. “ I have but to say that if you do 
not send off to my ship, and surrender within 
half an hour, I shall bombard your town. Good¬ 
morning ! ” 

And off to the beach the bold youth strutted. 


His Hour Had Come 


99 

While nearing the ship he met the commander in 
his boat, and told him what he had done. 

This officer laughed good-naturedly, but — 

“ I think we’ll give him an hour,” he said. 

I must not trench on the good nature of my 
readers by making further digressions, else I could 
give a score of illustrations of the pluck and cour¬ 
age of boys of only fifteen years of age or younger. 

As he rode away from the plantation, accom¬ 
panied by a negro, who would take back the horse, 
Desmond felt more real freedom in his heart than 
ever he had known before. The day was beautiful, 
yet not too hot, and though the road was rough, 
this gave his attendant a better chance of keeping 
up with him. When it was smoother—winding 
through a wealth of flowery woodlands, the kind- 
hearted lad took the young darkie up behind him, 
so that one way or another, stopping only once to 
feed and water the nag, and refresh themselves, 
Desmond galloped up to the city a good hour be¬ 
fore sunset. 

He was duly challenged by the rascally-looking 
and ill-dressed sentry, and felt now that daring and 
cheek alone could serve him. 

“ Ho, senor,” said the fellow, shouldering arms, 
“ you cannot pass. You c&wiot pass. I have my 
orders! ” 

“ How dare you talk to rag, sir. I am in the con¬ 
fidence of the governor himself.” 

“ Turn out the guard ! ” he shouted. 


IOO 


Fighting For Cuba 


With praiseworthy speed a sergeant and two 
privates came rushing forth. 

“ This fellow,” continued Desmond, “ would bar 
my ingress. I come with an important message 
from my father, the well-known millionaire, Cap¬ 
tain Adeane—a non-combatant—and desire to be 
conducted to the house of the governor immedi¬ 
ately.” 

The sergeant saluted. 

Cheek had won the day. 

“ A non-commissioned officer shall conduct you, 
young senor, to the hacienda of the governor. 
Luckily he is at home.” 

In a quarter of an hour’s time, Desmond, with 
his broad hat in his hand, stood in the governor’s 
presence. 

Now it so happened that at his father’s hacienda 
several of the servants had lately been complaining 
of illness, though it was evidently nothing serious. 

This, however, was Desmond’s excuse for his ap¬ 
pearance here. 

The governor received him most kindly, and Dess 
formulated his request that a doctor might be “ lent ” 
to visit the hacienda, as it was possible yellow-jack 
might make its appearance. 

“ I have a good horse,” added Desmond, “ and 
with your permission, sir, the doctor can have that, 
for I shall prefer staying here for a week at least— 
to enjoy myself.” 

“ Boy-like! ” said His Excellency, smiling. “ So 


His Hour Had Come 101 

you shall, under my protection. You may do as 
you please.” 

“ I mean to,” thought Desmond. 

But shortly after he thanked the governor and 
took his leave. 

For two or three days he was a prominent figure 

at the-Hotel, where he made himself a great 

favourite with everyone, especially with the pret¬ 
tiest girls of the establishment. 

Fishing seemed to be his chief delight, and every 
evening on his return he handed his “ catch ” to the 
manager. 

Every morning too, before starting for his hired 
boat, he paid his bill. This was his pleasure, he 
said. “Yes, and it was likewise his policy.” 

But one day he asked the boatman to clap on sail 
—there was a spanking breeze from the southeast 
—and take him many miles along the shore. 

His crew did not hesitate, they knew they would 
be well paid. 

It was a delightful sail, and as they had started 
early, the day was all before them. Dess had not 
forgotten to bring with him an excellent luncheon, 
and over and above this he had provisions enough 
in his knapsack to last him, if he exercised economy, 
for two or three days, in his journey through the 
woods and wilds. 

By afternoon they were opposite a small sandy 
bay, and here Dess said he could land if they could 
rush the bar. They did not refuse, though the 



102 


Fighting For Cuba 

waves were breaking thereon with a roar like dis¬ 
tant thunder. There always is a gateway or gap in 
these coral reefs, however, where the water is roll¬ 
ing, but smooth, and this they managed to find. 
Sails were lowered. Out went the oars and while 
Desmond steered, onward with the speed of a flying 
train, rushed the boat. There was danger on each 
side, a huge wall of breaking tumbling water and 
the gap was narrow. The slightest wrong turn of 
the rudder would have been fatal, but though the 
little craft was half swamped she got through, and 
now they were in calm blue water, the white sil¬ 
very bottom of which they could see, with here 
and there long patches of black trailing seaweed, 
like mermaid’s hair. 

In a few minutes our youthful adventurer stood 
safe and sound on the sand. 

Much to the men’s surprise they were paid at 
once. 

“ Shall we not take you back, senor ? ” 

“No,” said the boy, laughing, “I shall probably 
walk to Santiago later on in the moonlight. Adios! 
I shan’t forget to look you up.” 

The boy meant what he said, but he expected it 
would be changed times before he entered the city 
again. 

He disappeared into the jungle as he spoke, and 
was soon hidden from view by the spreading man¬ 
grove trees and the cactus bushes already in crim 
son bloom. 


His Hour Had Come 


103 

“Mate,” said the boat-owner to his companion. 
“ That boy means mischief. He has been a spy in 
Santiago, and he is now making straight for the 
camping-grounds of the rebels.” 

“ What shall we do ? Foliow and recapture him ? ” 

“No, he is armed and we are not. The young 
mllano would give us convulsiones (fits).” 

“ See,” he added, “ the wind has changed and is 
stronger now, and all in our favour. Let us return 
at once and inform the authorities. We will be re¬ 
warded, and the boy will swing.” 

So high was the wind that under sail the boat 
went dancing homeward, and in three hours’ time 
they had reached Santiago, which the reader will 
note lies at the head of a gulf or bay. 

The military commander was greatly annoyed 
and alarmed. He saw the governor immediately. 

The latter stamped his foot, and I fear he swore 
a little, though in Spanish. 

“My eyes are opened. The boy is a spy. The 
story about sickness at Adeane’s hacienda was but 
a blind. But, by heavens ! there shall be sickness 
there. Meanwhile, commander, to horse! Take 
thirty men, for you may meet the insurgent bands. 
Y"ou know the roads beyond the Sierra Maestra .” 1 

“ I do, every inch of them.” 

“ Then as he is on foot, you can head him off.” 

“Certainly, governor. Shall we hang him, 
senor ? ” 


1 A range of mountains. 


104 Fighting For Cuba 

“ No, commander. Rope him tightly, and bring 
him to me alive. We shall try him and hang him 
here. Do your work well, and you shall command 
the forces I will send to raze the hacienda of the 
traitor Adeane to the grounds.” 

“ I shall lose no time, senor! ” 

And off he set to make immediate preparations 
for the pursuit. 

Meanwhile, under the light of the moon, and by 
aid of his little compass, Desmond was hurrying on 
in a northerly direction. 

Through a dark deep forest at first for five long 
miles, a forest that the moonlight could only pene¬ 
trate here and there, so that the lad often stumbled 
in the darkness, or stuck in thorn and cactus bushes, 
tearing his clothes, and wounding cheeks and hands. 

There were no wild beasts here that he knew of; 
only huge bats flew over him, and terrible shrieks 
and yells were heard now and then in the woods, 
which almost made his blood run cold. They were 
so human-like that he tried in vain to disabuse his 
mind of the notion that some poor women were 
being ill-treated and murdered. 

But he was clear of the forest at last. He 
looked at his watch. He had taken two hours and 
a half to get through. He glanced back now with 
a shudder at the gloom he had penetrated, then 
once more at his compass, and went marching on. 

Fire-flies danced and bobbed around him every¬ 
where, and the mosquitoes bit him vengefully. 


His Hour Had Come 


105 

Far ahead, looking greenish-yellow in the moon¬ 
light, were the mountains. He must cross these 
somehow, anyhow, or wind up the glens and around 
them. 

He was very tired now, and sleepy, but he dared 
not rest. There was a suspicion in his mind that 
as soon as the boatmen returned, the hue and cry 
would be raised, and men sent out to head him off. 
In this, as we have seen, he was right. 

No, he must not rest yet awhile. But he was 
hungry and must eat. He took but a moment to 
get out a few sandwiches, and he ate those as he 
hurried along. After a draught of water from a 
neighbouring rill, he felt better and less tired. But 
he must pray as he marched. And he did so, right 
earnestly to God, that his steps might be guided 
safely to the far-distant camp of the down-trodden 
Cubans, and that he might be the means of help¬ 
ing them on their thorny path to freedom. I my¬ 
self have had very many answers to my prayers, 
often enough when danger and death stared me in 
the face in foreign lands, and when I could see no 
way out except through the dark vale. 

But now Desmond found a road, a rough and 
rutty one it was, but it evidently led over the 
Sierras. 

He followed this for miles through the now si¬ 
lent bush. Presently he came to a tilled field, and 
not far off was a hut in which a light was burning. 

There was no one near, so he helped himself to 


io 6 Fighting For Cuba 

some sweet potatoes, stowing them away in his 
knapsack. 

Who lived, he wondered, in that squalid cottage, 
so far up among the rugged hills? Would it be 
safe to venture near, he asked himself. 

Anyhow, his curiosity impelled him to do so, 
though he kept well in the shade of the towering 
cactus bushes. 

The door was shut, but he heard voices within, 
and made certain that they were those of insur 
gents. Then very cautiously he peeped from a dis¬ 
tance through the little window. There was no 
glass, only an opening. 

They were Spaniards—three in all, smoking 
and drinking wine, and on the table before them 
lay a heap of watches and trinkets, evidently loot. 
They had been on the war-path, without doubt, and 
glad indeed was Desmond to find himself once 
more back on the road. A kind of nightmare 
terror now seized upon him, and he never ceased 
trotting for five more miles, when he came to a lit¬ 
tle lake, fed by the streams from the hillsides. 

Near it was another house, but no light streamed 
from this. It was close to the roadside, and his 
heart beat quick, with a nameless dread, when be¬ 
side the door he saw lying on their backs, the bod¬ 
ies of a man, a woman and a child of tender 
years. They had evidently been dead but a short 
time, for the blood still trickled from their ghastly 
wounds. 


His Hour Had Come 107 

Desmond stood for a moment as if transfixed. 
He should never forget that sight the longest day 
he lived. Night-flies hummed above the corpses, 
the mosquitoes sang around them in clouds, and 
there were the huge bobbing three-eyed fire-flies, 
the light from their bodies brighter far than that 
reflected from the moon. 

All that night Desmond, tired, excited and weary, 
walked on and on. The moon sank before the sun 
got up, and it grew very dark now. Fearing to 
lose the path he lay down, but resolved he would 
not sleep. If he did he told himself anything 
might happen. Soldiers from Santiago might give 
him a rude awakening, and if even friendly insur¬ 
gents found him, and farther on met Spaniards, 
they would, at the bayonet’s point, have to tell the 
truth and give the boy away. 

But sleep he did and that too for many hours. 

He sat up at last and rubbed his eyes. The sun 
was high in the heavens, and for half a minute he 
wondered where he was and what he was doing 
here. 

At any other time his heart would have thrilled 
with joy and admiration at the beauty of the 
scenery beneath, above and around him. The 
mountain peaks clad in flowery bushes or green 
cactus intermingled with vines, the jungle still 
nearer and ahead; the grand old forests that lay 
below and the glimpses of the blue, blue sea, far, 
far beyond. 


io8 


Fighting For Cuba 


But as he sat there, still but half awake, with a 
score of parrots chattering near, he noticed a horse 
and rider just ascending the path at a bend of the 
road. 

More horsemen followed. A small army it 
seemed to him. 

And they were Spaniards, and armed to the teeth. 
Poor Desmond was brave but he trembled now, as 
he crawled out of the way far into the bush where 
he trusted he could see without being seen. 

The road was not wide enough for two to ride 
abreast, so that many took short cuts through the 
scrub in order to keep up with their comrades. 

One of these soldiers passed so near to the bush 
where Dess lay hidden, that he could have touched 
his horse’s posterns. 

The boy had his dagger and revolver handy, and 
determined that, if discovered, he should sell his 
life dearly. 

But the cavalcade rode by and he breathed more 
easily now. Only two things were certain. He 
must not travel by day, and when night came he 
must keep his weather ear and eye lifting, to be 
ready at a moment’s warning to dart into the bush. 

But where should he hide ? There were caves in 
plenty, but no doubt on returning the Spaniards 
would examine these. 

Well here on the hills were many marvellous and 
strange trees. One stood almost alone; a kind of 
cedar very close and very dense. He climbed up 


His Hour Had Come 


109 

and near the top found a kind of lubber’s-hole 
through which he forced himself. Parasitic trail¬ 
ing flowers made him here quite a bower, and in a 
more safe place he could not have been. Yet 
there was light enough for him to see to read a 
little Spanish story book he had brought in his 
knapsack. 

It was a strange wild tale of adventure and fight¬ 
ing in the Highlands of Spain, of knights in armour, 
a lady fair who had been taken prisoner by an evil¬ 
eyed baron, and cast into a dungeon in his old 
enchanted castle, of her rescue by her lover, the 
slaying of the baron and of his evil spirit in the 
shape of a dragon. Such a book boys would hardly 
read in our enlightened days. However it served a 
good purpose now and whiled away the time. 

Then utterly worn out, Desmond determined to 
sleep, but he had his luncheon first, then with his 
cummerbund or sash he made himself fast to the 
tree with a reef knot, and in three minutes more he 
was far, far away in the land of dreams. 

And the time flew by, hour after hour and still 
he awoke not. Curious birds alighted on the tree- 
top, and eyed him wonderingly with heads on one 
side. 

“ A real human biped ! ” they seemed to say. 

“ What on earth is he going to do here ? ” 

“ Going to build a nest, maybe ? ” 

“ I don’t know, but suppose we peck his eyes out. 
They would eat as nice as sea-snails.” 


] io 


Fighting For Cuba 


But these birds flapped their wings and flew off, 
for they could bear, ay and see the approach of 
armed men on horseback. 

This aroused Desmond at last, and he listened 
with awe to the trampling of many horses’ feet, 
mingling with loud voices in conversation. 

They were the returning Spaniards. 

“ Ha! ” cried the commander, “ here under the 
shelter of this spreading tree shall we dine and 
drink. We have not found the spy, but men, we 
have done our duty.” 

“ Si por cierto ! ” was the sergeant’s stern reply. 

“ Stack arms, men! and circle round.” 

Here was an adventure that poor Dess had not 
calculated on. However he believed himself safe. 

Surely they would soon depart, however. Yet 
they seemed in no hurry, and the laughing and 
joking told the boy plainly enough that the wine 
was mounting to their heads. 

“ I’ll read my story,” said Desmond now. 

He quietly took out the book. 

But to his horror he let it slip from his grasp. 
He saw it slide silently over the green twigs, then 
—it descended and fell right in the centre of the 
carousing Spaniards. 

They started to their feet. 

“ Por Dios ! ” the commander cried, “ how came 
this book here ? ” 

“ The spy is hiding in the tree! ” 

Then Desmond felt that his hour had come. 


CHAPTER IX 


Such a Narrow Escape—Life Among the 
Rough Riders of Cuba 

“ Your children, wives and grandsires hoary — 

Behold their tears and hear their cries! 

To arms ! to aims! ye brave ! 

The avenging sword unsheath. 

March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved 
On victory or death.”— De L'Isle. 

It did, indeed, look as though his hour had come, 
but he resolved to die like a hero. 

He did not take long to make up his mind about 
that. 

He hastily undid the knot in his cummerbund 
and drew up his legs as two, or three bullets from 
Mauser rifles went fizzing past him. 

A call was now made for volunteers to swarm 
up the tree, and presently from the crackling of 
branches he knew that men were in it. 

Through the lubber-hole, however, come they 
must, one at a time and head first. 

The boy was very pale now, but he grasped his 
revolver. 

“ If I die,” he said, half aloud, “ it shall not be by 
myself. I shall have company ! ” 

Desmond had never yet drawn human blood. But 
now—well, it must be life for life. 


ill 


112 Fighting For Cuba 

So he sat crouching there with his eyes on the 
lubber-hole. 

But, lo ! assistance was at hand. 

At sea and on the war-path nothing is really cer¬ 
tain save the unexpected. 

A rattling musketry fire was heard from a neigh¬ 
bouring thicket and next moment the clattering of 
horses’ hoofs. 

“ To arms! to arms! ” was now the cry from the 
Spaniards, and next, “ To horse! to horse ! ” 

But the rough riders were on them before they 
could mount. They cut the enemy down right and 
left, and only very few escaped, and these the insur¬ 
gents did not care to follow. 

In the lull that succeeded, Desmond shouted, “ Be¬ 
low there! ” as if he had been in the foretop of a 
ship at sea. 

“ Someone in the tree! Who are you ? ” cried a 
voice from beneath. 

“ I am Desmond Adeane, son of the millionaire 
sugar-planter, and I was treed by the beastly Span¬ 
iards. I am on my way to the camp of General 
Garcia with funds to assist him. Will you body¬ 
guard me ? ” 

“ Certainly, if what you say is true. But come 
down.” 

“ I cannot. Two of the enemy are still hidden 
below me in the cedar. Dislodge them and I’ll de¬ 
scend.” 

“We’ll soon do that.” 


Such a Narrow Escape 113 

In five minutes more, after a tussle in the tree, 
the men were pitched out of it. One branch, how¬ 
ever, let them down to the next and their descent 
was slow and easy. When Desmond himself de¬ 
scended and stood laughing before the captain of 
this cavalry detachment, the prisoners were already 
pinioned. And Dess speedily convinced this officer 
of the truth of his statement. 

The story of his somewhat droll adventures was 
received with a cheer, and soon—leaving the dead 
to the birds of prey and the wounded to die, should 
their comrades not return—the march into the in¬ 
terior was commenced. 

In his heart Desmond could not help pitying the 
poor, pale, wretched prisoners, who were led or 
rather dragged along to their doom. 

He thought probably that they were to be taken 
to Garcia’s camp. But he noticed that the sergeant 
of the party was riding on ahead and carefully 
scanning every tree, as boys do when bird-nesting. 

Presently he reined up at the foot of a species of 
spreading pine. 

“ This will do well, sir,” he said. “ These cow¬ 
ardly coyotes should thank us for finding them so 
comfortable a place in which to kick their last.” 

The prisoners answered never a word. 

A soldier pulled out a flute and began to play a 
merry dancing tune. Lariats were thrown over the 
branches and in five minutes’ time the poor prison¬ 
ers, one after another, were hoisted with such a 


114 .Fighting For Cuba 

jerk that their necks must have been dislocated 
against the limbs of the tree. 

A few revolver shots were fired into them to 
make sure, then on marched the captain and his 
merry men. 

Their very mirth was infectious, and despite the 
terrible scenes he had witnessed, Desmond soon 
found himself spinning yarns about his life at sea 
and in the Philippine Islands, that made everyone 
listen and laugh. 

It was through a country of truly marvellous 
beauty and enchantment, this cavalcade of rough 
riders now went trotting along. 

Sometimes, though, the path led through tall 
grass or dense jungle which it was difficult indeed 
to penetrate; sometimes straight over a steep hill, 
where the trees were sparse but still lovely, and 
anon by a still leaden mountain lake, or across a 
ford, where demon caymans lurked, kept well at 
bay, however, by the noise and splashing of the 
horses’ feet. 

One river with high rocky and fantastic banks, 
and lined by strange trees and feathery palms both 
great and small, appealed so to Desmond’s love of 
romance, that he dropped behind to admire. 

But the men in front shouted, rifles rang out in 
the still air, the boy’s horse sprang forward, and as 
he looked fearfully around, he saw the loathsome 
head of a gigantic cayman reared above the water. 
Whether shot dead or not it suddenly disappeared. 


n J 


Such a Narrow Escape 

And Dess knew without being told that his escape 
from a terrible death had been a very narrow one 
indeed. 

The troopers bivouacked just one night on the 
road. Arms were stacked, horses hobbled, and 
while most of the men lay down to smoke, others 
were told off to cook a glorious stew. 

After supper and some wine, all lay down and 
appeared to smoke themselves to sleep. But the 
smoke was really meant to keep away the biting 
insects. 

Desmond covered his head quite up with his 
little handkerchief, and so slept soundly enough 
till sunrise, when the parrots awoke him. 

That same evening they reached the rough riders’ 
camp, and to the great joy of all they found Gen¬ 
eral Garcia himself here. 

A high-browed, dark-eyed, but handsome man, 
whose snow-white hair and beard showed that he 
was well advanced in years. 

The officer introduced Desmond Adeane. 

The general scanned him for a second or two 
with lowered brows as if he would read the lad’s 
inmost thoughts. 

But Desmond never quailed. 

Then he smiled, and when he did so, he no longer 
looked severe, but kindly and even merry. 

“ You are honest. Come to my tent. I will see 
you alone.” 

Half an hour after this, when the boy came 


Fighting For Cuba 


116 

out, his face was beaming with joy, and he went 
directly to his new friend, the captain of the rough 
riders. 

“ I am to be permitted to go back home,” he said, 
“ or to join your corps. I should dearly love to be 
a rough rider. Will you have me ? ” 

“You are very young,” said Captain Godfrey. 
“ Can you ride and shoot ? ” 

“ I have ridden a buck-jumper,” replied Dess, 
proudly, “ and I can shoot. 

“ See! ” he added, drawing his revolver. 

He raised the weapon at once and fired, and a 
stray sugar-cane thirty yards away was cut in two. 

“Bravo! boy.” 

“ I—I—really wasn’t firing at the sugar-cane,” 
stammered Dess, with splendid candour, “but at 
the palm two yards to the left. But that is a mere 
matter of detail, isn’t it, sir ? ” 

The captain laughed heartily. 

“ I’ll mount you to-morrow, anyhow,” he said. 

That evening Desmond wrote a letter home, hav- 
iug found out that two scouts were going in his 
father’s direction. In this he told him all that had 
happened, and that he was now a rough rider. He 
also warned him most earnestly to be prepared for 
a visit of the Don at any time, as all was discov¬ 
ered, and that no doubt Santiago had vowed venge¬ 
ance. 

There was much more in the lad’s letter that 
need not be repeated. 


Such a Narrow Escape 117 

Captain Adeane smiled when he read the letter. 
But he was pleased. 

He hated the Spaniards now more than ever. 
Hitherto his motto had been: “ It is better to flense 
a fool than fight him.” 

But now the die was cast. He had crossed the 
rubicon; and should go on, throwing in his lot 
with the insurgents. 

Desmond had sent back the pass which his father 
had lent him. It was one which permitted the 
family of Adeane to go anywhere it chose in the 
island—the officers who might read it being warned 
that they must treat the bearer civilly, and supply 
him with assistance if needed. 

This pass the captain placed in his pocketbook. 
It might or might not be useful. 

As to the preparations to “ repel boarders,” as 
Adeane phrased it, the scouts found that they were 
almost completed, and that all the mill hands that 
could be spared were still actively engaged about 
them. I should mention that when this hacienda 
was first built, fearing that very dark and trouble¬ 
some times were ahead, every window was fur¬ 
nished with an iron shutter, pierced with holes for 
rifle fire, so that the place could be turned into a 
fort at a few minutes’ notice. 

The scouts left, but told Adeane that they should 
hover near by for months and hoped to be the very 
first to bring him any news, if they noted any un¬ 
usual stir in the enemy’s camps. 


n8 Fighting For Cuba 

The priest and the millionaire were as happy and 
merry now as if home again in dear old Ireland, 
but there were times when all alone by their two 
selves that they shook their heads and looked very 
serious indeed, when they thought of the dark cloud 
that hovered on the weather horizon of their lives. 

One forenoon, for instance, they were walking in¬ 
side the fortifications of the hacienda quietly and 
silently smoking. 

“ Well, Father McDowney,” said Adeane, as he 
pitched away the end of an excellent cigar, “ it may 
come all right, but I have grave doubts.” 

“ Hush! ” said the priest. “ Pardon my bad 
English, but the divil a taste of a grave will there 
be about it. 

“ Why look ye,” he continued, “ our good ship 
here is so well fortified and so well supplied with 
cartridges and ammunition, with food and gun¬ 
powder, that bother my wig if we couldn’t stand a 
siege for a month.” 

“ You really think so, Father McDowney?” 

“ It’s myself that does sure enough, and I’m not 
saying it either, simply to jolly you on. It is in 
downright earnest I am.” 

Adeane laughed now. 

“Just do all you can anyhow to keep up my 
wife’s and daughter’s hearts. And do you know, 
father, that I regret now bringing them over from 
the Isle of Pines; or not taking them straight on 
to dear old Hew York.” 


Such a Narrow Escape 119 

“Well, it is there they’ll all be safe and sound 
soon, perhaps. But I know what always cheers you 
up.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ Take a walk round the inside of the forts.” 

They did so. 

The fortifications were very simple but calcu¬ 
lated to be effectual. Only that would remain to be 
seen. All round and round the whole establishment, 
including the great sugar-mill in the rear, ran a 
deep protecting ditch. High enough when one was 
in it to quite conceal the body when one stooped a 
little. Beyond this was a trocha-like arrangement 
of the most intricately mingled strong barbed wire. 
This might be cut, but not if a few brave men held 
the trenches. And these trenches communicated 
with the cellars of the house by means of a zigzag 
ditch, which was also connected with the great mill. 
At each corner of the out works was a huge iron 
tank with holes to fire from, and thus enfilade an at¬ 
tacking enemy. These tanks were roofed over and 
entered from below. 

Moreover they could obtain a good view of nearly 
all the surrounding country. 

If the worst came to the very worst, Captain 
Adeane determined he would fight with bombs or 
large bottles of petroleum which should explode 
when hurled into the ranks of an attacking foe. 

Well, therefore, might he consider himself fit to 
stand any ordinary siege. 


120 


Fighting For Cuba 

On the hacienda roof, which was flat and covered 
with lead like an old-fashioned church tower, sen¬ 
tries were stationed day and night. And these 
could communicate with Adeane in his room, at any 
hour, by means of the telephone. 

****** 

The rebellion dragged on its slow and lengthy 
way. It was a huge dragon in this fair and lovely 
isle of the ocean, and its bulk was over all the land. 
A dragon whose terrible scaly arms were red with 
the blood of innocent babies and tender women, a 
dragon whose very breath withered all things as it 
crawled along. 

The effects of General Weyler’s Reconcentrado 
measure was still felt. It brought in its wake 
disease and starvation ; for those who were pent up 
in the towns under the most unsanitary conditions, 
had only one door of escape and that led through 
the valley and the shadow of death. 

I do not wish to paint my story either black or 
red, but it can do the reader no harm to know, that 
out of 400,000, no less than 200,000 of the wretched 
captives died of starvation and pestilence combined. 

Too shocking to think of, is it not ? 

Well, let us change the subject, and once more dip 
into the glory and the romance of war. 

While Adeane’s mills go merrily round and all 
his crops are being gathered and turned into sugar, 
and this itself is being refined by a new method in- 


121 


Such a Narrow Escape 

troduced by himself, Desmond is leading the life 
of a real rough rider, and, with his splendid regi¬ 
ment or companies of it, is scouring the country, 
and fighting the Dons wherever found and always 
with success, whatever the garbled bulletins of the 
enemy may have said to the contrary. 

Letters found their way frequently to the haci¬ 
enda. They were written in sylvan camps, or far 
in forest lands, in jungles deep, or on the mountain¬ 
sides, and written as often as not, perhaps, on a 
drum as a writing-desk. But they were always 
most cheerful, especially those to Aileen and dear 
old Teddy McCoy. Dess, of course, could not de¬ 
scribe one half he came through, and very often a 
letter would end most abruptly, as the trumpet 
sounded “ To horse and away.” 

Teddy was a man now in size and wisdom, if 
not in years. He had been elevated to the post of 
Adeane’s chief clerk, and though the duties were 
light, they required a considerable deal of thought. 

He was enabled, however, to take plenty of exer¬ 
cise and even on his rides Aileen accompanied him, 
and not only Aileen, but Charlie Chat, and, strange 
to say, Cheese invariably occupied that portion of 
the Spanish saddle that was raised slightly in front. 

He loved Aileen very dearly indeed, she was not 
only so beautiful, with her dark hair and those sad 
and bonnie blue eyes, but most innocent in manner 
and naive. He loved her as a brother loves a 
sister; at any rate, that is what he told himself. 


122 Fighting For Cuba 

It might be said that the girl was little more 
than a child. In years, yes, but in Cuba mar¬ 
riages are known to take place even with young 
ladies of thirteen, and a maiden is considered old 
at twenty. 

Far down in the scale of society though young 
McCoy’s parents had been, he himself, was a gen¬ 
tleman of honour with a heart as brave as a lion’s. 

Garcia was a great and a victorious general 
who drummed the Spaniards into their biggest 
towns and laying siege to the smaller, turned them 
out of these with great loss, capturing guns, ammu¬ 
nition and stores of every sort. 

But with the rough riders, Desmond lived almost 
constantly in the saddle and always in camps. If 
they were to occupy these for even a few days they 
built gipsy tents. But often when attacked they 
had to set these hastily on fire and either fight 
or fly. 

McDonnell, the colonel of this splendid corps, 
nearly always preferred to fight, but a good man 
will conserve his troops when oppressed by fearful 
odds, and this officer, though brave and dashing to 
a fault, had also the bump of caution. 

During the months that our hero, Desmond, spent 
in the camps of the rough riders—the real cow¬ 
boys of Cuba—he seems to have gone everywhere, 
done everything and seen almost everybody of 
note. 

It is no wonder that he got brown and hardy. 


Such a Narrow Escape 123 

But there came another change, and this was in his 
character. The romance of war he loved from the 
first, but the scenes of havoc, of burning and blood¬ 
shed, were, at first, very harrowing. When he 
closed his eyes in camp after a hard day’s “ man¬ 
hunt,” these all appeared before him. When he 
slept at last they took possession of his dreams, 
only the horror of them was magnified a hundred¬ 
fold. He saw dead men, fearfully gashed and con¬ 
torted, stretched in every conceivable position on 
the battlefields among the lovely woodland scen¬ 
ery, or near the ridiculous little forts and stupid 
trochas, with which the Spaniards had cob webbed 
the island; and wounded men, too, writhing in pain 
and torture, many of them with the death-sweat 
already standing in cold beads on their brows. He 
heard young fellows deliriously calling for the 
mothers, the sisters, or sweethearts they should 
never see again. 

Then the scene might change and he was in a 
village among blazing huts, in the lanes of which, 
lay murdered women and children just as Weyler’s 
troops had left them, and perhaps as he gazed in 
horror at these, some monster cayman would come 
crawling from a stream and bear away a corpse, 
and at this he would awaken with a scream. 

“ What is the matter, sonny ? ” some kindly voice 
would be sure to exclaim. And Desmond would 
sleep again, only to see other scenes a little less 
horrible; burnt fields, the white smoke rising like 


124 


Fighting For Cuba 


a mist therefrom, and sugar factories wrecked be¬ 
yond all recognition; or he would be in the thick 
of a terrible fight on an open plain, with men fall¬ 
ing fast around him, or engaged in derailing some 
armoured train from Havana. And it might be 
nearly morning before scenes more calm and beau¬ 
tiful found their way into his dreams, and he saw 
charming scenery or green fields with pleasant 
streams meandering through them and beautiful 
cows quietly browsing, as if there were no such 
things as war and cruelty in the world. 

But after even six weeks he was a hardened, 
weather-stained young soldier, and horrors came 
not now to his dreams by night, no matter what he 
saw by day. 

Such was the change wrought in the boy’s char¬ 
acter. 


CHAPTER X 

A Bleeding Country Struggling for its Liberty 

“ Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of 
chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Heavenly Father! I know not what 
course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me 
death .”—Patrick Henry. 

“ Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, 

Sorrow calls no time that’s gone; 

Violets plucked, the sweetest rain 
Makes not fresh to grow again.”— Fletcher. 

There came one day to Garcia’s camp an adven¬ 
turous officer from New York, and his visit did 
more to raise the hopes of the Cubans than any¬ 
thing else that had yet occurred. 

The bitter cry of this sorrowful republic had 
floated far to the north, and found echo and re¬ 
sponse in the hearts of every man, woman and child 
worthy to be called American. 

The officer, whose name was Rowan, had come 
through many dangers on his way hither; indeed 
his journey had been quite romantic, sometimes 
very unpleasant for him. Nevertheless, he had 
come to interview Garcia, not actually to promise 
aid from America, but with the view of finding out 
how far the Cubans could help themselves in the 

125 


126 Fighting For Cuba 

island, if a Yankee invasion, blockade and bombard¬ 
ment took place from sea. 

This visit then was a secret mission, most faith¬ 
fully and most daringly carried out. 

Having done his duty, Rowan rode off once more, 
and finally made his escape northward and reached 
Hew York in perfect safety. 

But the news spread among the insurgents and 
gave every one heart. 

From east to west the good tidings ran like wild¬ 
fire. The reconcentrados around the towns heard 
them and it helped to heal their ailments. God had 
heard their prayers, their blood had cried unto 
heaven, and He the mighty Lord of all, who moves 
in so mysterious a way, would send assistance, and 
cut off their cruel enemies from among men; the 
Spaniards themselves heard the news, not only in 
Cuba, where they trembled, but in Spain, where 
they pretended to know no fear. 

“ America, indeed! ” cried statesmen, derisively. 
“America fight Spain, with her chivalry, her 
ancient name and fame,—and her vast fleet. It is 
really too ridiculous! ” 

“I say, have you heard the news?” one man 
would ask another at his club, or on the street. 

“ Ho. What is the last ? ” 

“ America has gone mad ! ” 

“ Mad?” 

“Yes; amico mio, los Americanos condemnados 
(the Yanks’) are going to throw in their lot with 


A Country Struggling for its Liberty 127 

the rebels and sweep the might and the right of 
this great nation clear out of Cuba.” 

“ Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho! The best thing I 
have heard for a long time ! ” 

And Spain began to look at her pistols ; in other 
words, to count the number of her battle-ships, new 
and old, and a splendid array they made—on paper. 
Spain was all excitement. Had they not been the 
greatest naval nation the world ever saw? Had 
they not laid the world bleeding and begging at their 
feet ? Would not proud England herself have been 
conquered, and Queen Elizabeth made prisoner but 
for the unlucky storm that arose and scattered the 
Armada ? And was she now going to lose a single 
possession or lower her beautiful flag on any island 
of the ocean at the bidding, the threats or the guns 
of such a country as America, that had no army 
other than a mob of cowboys and roughs, and no 
navy worth thinking twice about ? Bah! The Yanks 
would rue the day they interfered with proud 
Spain’s private affairs. Their insolence should be 
punished, and the “ bird o’ freedom,” that eagle 
whose soaring they boasted so much about, would 
come tumbling down with a broken wing. Hurrah! 
the grand old days of chivalry and romance and 
glory were returning to Spain once more. 

“ We shall thrash America,” cried the clubmen, 
“ enrich ourselves with an immense indemnity, and 
constitute ourselves once more a first-class power.” 
“ It is really very foolisii of America,” gallants 


128 


Fighting For Cuba - 

would say to their bewitching partners in ball-rooms, 
and the dark-eyed beauties looked lovingly, admir¬ 
ingly at these heroes as they spoke, “ very foolish 
(idiota ). One can hardly help pitying them. In¬ 
crease their national debt. Produce a stagnancy 
they will not recover from in a generation. 

“ And you really think, Carlo mio , we can con¬ 
quer them ? ” 

“Conquer them! We shall whip them as little 
boys are whipped at school. Our fleets shall sail 
shortly, or as soon as war is proclaimed. We shall 
meet and destroy the American navy with one 
squadron, another shall hover around Cuba and 
Porto Kico, and a third bombard and destroy every 
coast city they possess. We shall make peace at 
last, but it will be in the capitol at Washington. 
It is the best thing that ever happened for Spain! ” 

And the news was heard at the hacienda. A 
scout brought a very long letter to Captain Adeane 
early one morning, and he read it to all hands at 
the breakfast-table. 

Mrs. Adeane smiled sadly. 

“ O, these wars,” she said, “when will they 
cease ?” 

“ I guess,” said Adeane, “ I guess, my dear, it is 
a higher Power that ordains them, and for a good 
reason. This world isn’t all, and our insight is very 
limited.” 

“ O mamma, I love war and heroes,” said Aileen, 
enthusiastically. “And I dearly love Ted there. 


A Country Struggling for its Liberty 129 

He’s going to be a real hero and light like Dess. 
Poor Dess! ” 

The doctor smiled. 

“When you’re done with me, captain,” he said, 
“just pop me on board a Yankee ship. I want to 
see all the fun I can.” 

“ So do I,” cried Aileen, roguishly. 

Poor child! She little knew what was before 
her! 


***** * 

Brave though the Cubans were and clever their 
generals, I do not wish to imply that they always 
got the bes+ of it. For often indeed had they to 
retreat from a fort they had attacked, small and 
ridiculous though these were, and sometimes they 
were overpowered even in the open. When they 
retreated, they never failed to take their wounded 
with them. 

Their hospitals were well looked after by men 
and women nurses, although doctors were very 
scarce. Huge tents or marquees they were, built 
away in some sparsely tree’d glen, on ground as 
high and cool as possible and near to water. 

And I know of no horrors so terrible—in any 
history I can remember, even Biblical—as those the 
cowardly Spaniards with their cruel generals—espe¬ 
cially Weyler—brought upon this poor bleeding 
country struggling so bravely for its liberty. But 
they spared not even the sick and wounded. 


130 Fighting For Cuba 

One day in a bush fight, in which the insurgents 
were worsted, young Desmond was wounded. He 
remembered being hit. The bullet hardly gave him 
pain. He just felt dazed, and in the faint or 
dreams that followed, it seemed that it was some 
comrade who had been struck and not he. He was 
merely an onlooker. 

Desmond was at this time a lieutenant, and well 
had he deserved the honour. He recovered his 
senses in a hammock, which was one of very many 
under the grass roof of a temporary hospital. These 
hammocks were low toward the ground, and sup¬ 
ported by rough beams overhead. The hospital 
was silent enough when Desmond opened his eyes 
and found the surgeon, quite a young fellow, bend¬ 
ing over him and asking him to swallow something 
he held to his lips. The hospital was silent be¬ 
cause the brave fellows that were stretched therein 
scorned to moan or cry out with pain in presence 
of their comrades. 

“ Am—am I going to die, doctor ? ” 

“No, old man, never a die this time. I’ve got 
the bullet out of your side and you’re a bit low. 
That’s all. I have no fear of you, but there are 
dead ones not far olf.” 

“ Doctor ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Did we win in that skirmish ? ” 

“No, we got soundly thrashed. There was but 
a handful of you Roughs. You had dismounted, 


A Country Struggling for its Liberty 131 

you remember, and were fighting from tree to tree, 
when you fell.” 

“ But your own head is bandaged! ” 

“ Yes, I had an ugly rip from a Mauser.” 

“ And yet you are working ? ” 

“ Who would work if the doctor didn’t. He has 
to fight in the field and do his surgical duty after¬ 
ward.” 

“ Hark! what is that ? ” 

There was now the rip—rip—rip of rifle fire and 
terrible shouting, and the Cubans rushed past the 
hospital pell-mell, some falling dead in their tracks. 

Then came the horror! The Spaniards had at¬ 
tacked the other end of the hospital, and, awful to 
relate, were killing with knife and machete, the pa¬ 
tients in their hammocks. 

A terrible scene, and Desmond was quietly, pray¬ 
erfully, waiting for death. 

But the Cubans rallied, another hand-to-hand 
fight ensued, and the enemy fled. The hospital 
was fired, however, and in desperation and despite 
the pain he was suffering, he leapt from his ham¬ 
mock. Just outside he tumbled over the dead body 
of the surgeon. 

The young lieutenant had no idea where he was 
going, and presently found himself all alone in a 
wood. He just wandered feebly onward, often 
having to clutch at a tree to prevent himself from 
falling. At last his head swam so that he was fain 
to sit down. 


l 3 2 


Fighting For Cuba 

Two peasant women came along soon, and seeing 
his sad plight, bore him tenderly through the wood 
and high up the hill until they came to a hacienda. 
It was a small one and had never been discovered 
by the Spaniards, else it would have been speedily 
robbed and fired. 

Desmond’s wound had broken out afresh, and he 
fainted, but when he once more looked around him 
he believed himself in a dream. 

He lay in a beautifully and tastefully furnished 
room, with snow-white and gilded walls and furni¬ 
ture to match. A lady in widow’s weeds sat sew¬ 
ing by the open casement, an elderly gentleman 
whom she presently addressed as brother, was read¬ 
ing in a rocking-chair, and on his knee, with one 
soft white arm about his neck and a wealth of yel¬ 
low hair hanging over her shoulders, was the pret¬ 
tiest girl Desmond had ever seen. 

“ That’s a fairy,” he said, sotto voce. 

The child jumped down at once. 

“ O,” she cried, joyfully, clapping her hands, “ the 
boy officer has spoken.” 

She ran toward the couch on which poor Desmond 
lay, and gently smoothed his hair and patted his 
pale brow. 

“ Poor little boy! ” she said, soothingly, “ and has 
he no mother, then ? ” 

Although in great pain, he could not help smiling. 

“ I’ll be your loving mother,” she continued, “ and 
my mamma will be your granny.” 


A Country Struggling for its Liberty 133 

A very pretty arrangement this, indeed. Well, 
she did not quite fulfil all the duties of a mother, 
perhaps, but during the many weeks of his confine¬ 
ment in this mountain retreat, Babette, as she was 
called, made him a very earnest and delightful little 
nurse. When Dess was a little better—the old man 
was his surgeon—he learned the sad story of this 
bereaved family. The tale was brief enough, and 
the boy officer knew better than to press for details. 

The pretty chalet, so carefully concealed here in 
the mountains, had been built for a health retreat, 
and at most times the white-haired though still 
young-looking lady lived at the sugar factory many 
miles from here, with her husband, three brave sons 
almost grown to man’s estate and little Babette. 
The brother was also a member of the family, and 
Madame Juan, or “ Granny,” as Dess had to call 
her, told him, with tears in her eyes, of the fearful 
attack made by the Spaniards on the factory. Her 
husband and sons and every servant were butchered, 
and those he saw around him escaped to the moun¬ 
tains, and here they would remain till the conclu¬ 
sion of the war. 

Desmond’s wound was not a dangerous one. It 
healed well and rapidly, but even after three or 
four weeks, he had so little strength that he could 
scarcely stand. 

Babette was about fourteen, the age of his own 
sister, played on a harp and sang pretty songs to 
him, and hardly ever left him all day long. 


*34 


Fighting For Cuba 

Her merry chatter quite cheered him, and every 
morning she left to bring him a bouquet of beauti¬ 
ful flowers. At bedtime the fairy girl, as Dess 
called her, said “ Good-night, child,” and kissed 
him. “ Be good and pray,” she would add, as she 
disappeared through the doorway. 

No wonder Dess loved her, which he did with all 
the Irish sentiment and romance in his nature. 

“ I shall marry you some day,” he said to her 
once, as she knelt beside his low couch fondling his 
hand. 

“ O yes, of course,” she answered; “ and I’ll still 
be your mother then, quite, won’t I ? ” 

****** 

Desmond Adeane had sent a messenger with let¬ 
ters for his home several times. They were never 
received, however, but why, he never could tell. 

A Spanish paper one day, soon after Dess’s last 
fight and the massacre at the hospital, found its way 
to the hacienda, which caused great trouble, though 
it left hope. The heading of one column was very 
sensational, and ran as follows: 

Great Battle Near the Canto Kiyer. 

Severe Fighting. 

Koute and Utter Annihilation of 2,000 
Insurgents. 

Spanish Losses Trifling. 


A Country Struggling for its Liberty 135 

But next morning came a scout with a letter from 
the colonel of the Cuban rough riders with whom 
Desmond was a great favourite. The boy it said 
was wounded and in the hospital. 

Next day another scout arrived with another let¬ 
ter, containing an account of the murderous attack 
on the hospital. 

“ I deeply regret,” it ran on, “ that your poor, 
brave lad was among the slain, and as the hospital 
was afterward burnt, no bodies were recovered 
for burial. You can grieve but little less than I, 
for I dearly loved the lad. It is fate, alas! Fate 
and the fortune of war ! ” 

****** 

This letter which was received early in the after¬ 
noon plunged everyone into a whirlpool of grief. 

Tears were denied to Captain Adeane and the 
priest, but silently down her pale face fell those of 
Desmond’s mother. 

Aileen’s agony was pitiable in the extreme. 
Hardly knowing what she did perhaps, she knelt 
beside Ted with her grief-stricken face and tangled 
hair on his knee. 

“ O Dessie ! O Dess! Oh! oh! my brother! 
Will I never, never see you more ? Why did you 
leave your Aileen ? Leave us all ? O brother! 
Were I only with you in death! ” 

Poor Charlie Chat with his ugly but anxious 
face, came running up to lick her hands, whining 


136 Fighting For Cuba 

piteously as he did so. She threw her arms around 
him. 

“ O Charlie,” she cried, “ poor Dess is dead—you 
—you—” She said no more but swooned upon the 
floor. 

A whole month passed away and the first anguish 
of grief had settled down into silent sorrow, for as 
yet no one dared mention Dess’s name for fear of 
harrowing the feelings of the others. 

Aileen was seldom apart now from Ted. 

“ You must be my brother,” she had said, and in¬ 
deed the manly fellow tried all his arts to comfort 
her. 

But, heigho! sorrows do not come singly, and one 
day a man on horseback galloped through the great 
gates and up to the office of Captain Adeane. 

“ They are coming! ” he cried. “ There is no time 
to lose. The Spaniards will be on us in force in 
little more than an hour.” 

Here was news indeed ! 

But Adeane never once lost his presence of mind. 


CHAPTER XI 


The Attack on the Hacienda—Determined Re¬ 
sistance 

“ And dar’st thou then to beard the lion in his den 
The Douglas in his hall ? 

And thinkest thou, thence unscathed to go ? 

No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no! ” 

— Scott. 

The scout would have stayed to assist in the de¬ 
fence of the beautiful hacienda and its splendid 
mills, but Adeane assured him that he would do 
better service if he could ride as far as the camp 
of the insurgents and order up assistance. 

“ I will give you a fresh horse,” said the captain. 

“JSo, no,” said the man, patting the neck of his 
spirited nag. “ Myself and Black Nell will manage 
it, if we are not headed off and pinked. But we 
shall die together. Shan’t we, Nell ? ” 

The good horse whinnied. 

Her master rode her to water, then he waved his 
cap as they passed through the great gates, and the 
forest soon swallowed them up. 

Adeane closed the gates, and locked and barred 
them at once. 


137 


138 Fighting For Cuba 

The mill was still whirling and rattling and 
groaning, but a blast from a little bugle that hung 
by his side, stopped this almost immediately. 

Well did everybody about the place know what 
that signal meant, for all hands had been drilled to 
their duties and knew their quarters and plan of 
defence weeks before the approach of the vengeful 
Spaniards. In less than twenty minutes the iron 
shutters were drawn over the windows and the 
hacienda now became a fort. The ditches or 
trenches had been deepened still more, but by 
means of an earthen step a man could raise himself 
to make firing easy. 

All hands were now armed, and the petroleum 
bombs were placed in a safe corner until they 
should be needed. 

These were to be thrown by an easy kind of 
catapult, so there was not the slightest fear of their 
bursting before alighting. In case, however, that 
these should spread devastating fires, the ground for 
forty or fifty yards around the hacienda and mills 
had been completely cleared of bushes and the turf 
turned over. 

Indeed everything possible had been done in 
order to save the hacienda and the lives of all 
within, for well Adeane knew, that in this case a 
lost battle would be followed by massacre and 
worse. 

Mrs. Adeane and Aileen with the maid, and a few 
dark-skinned female servants were placed in an 


The Attack on the Hacienda 


x 39 


inner room, and here too were Charlie Chat and 
Cheese, both of whom were wondering greatly what 
the matter might be. 

It still wanted an hour of noon when the noise in 
the bush far below the high glen, where the build¬ 
ings stood, told Adeane and his friends that the 
Spaniards were advancing. 

The time was coming. The fight would soon 
begin. The men turned and shook hands. There 
was no appearance of fear or even nervousness 
about any of them. 

“We are well defended,” said brave Adeane. 
“ Some of our defences are strange, but not so cruel 
as the works of Weyler. This is the wretch, boys, 
that said, 4 war is war, and I will wade knee-deep 
in the blood of men, women and suckling babes, 
but the insurrection shall be quelled! ’ ” 

The priest laughed grimly. 

“ His fellows shall have a taste of their master’s 
warfare now,” he said. 

Then everyone was ordered indoors. And there 
in the big hall with his people around him, the good 
father said brief but earnest prayer. 

Then, lighter in heart now, all took their stations 
silently in the upper chambers of the hacienda. 
And Adeane’s orders were that no one should fire 
or make the slightest noise, until he or one of his 
officers, Ted, Hodson or the priest gave the com¬ 
mand. 

Then they were to take sure aim, each man at the 


140 


Fighting For Cuba 


enemy directly in front of him, so that not a car¬ 
tridge should be thrown away. 

All the fires at the mills, and the kitchen or cook¬ 
ing fires attached to the dwelling-house had been 
drowned out, and had you, reader, stood on either 
of the wooded hills that rose one at each side of the 
glen on this bright, beautiful day the scenery about 
and around you would have appeared to you like 
a fairy-land. It was a land of flowers and feathery 
palms at all events, and a land of bright-winged but 
silent birds, for parrots and parrakeets had long 
since been frightened away by the sound of the 
grinding mill. Then had you been quite a stranger 
your eyes would have fallen on that snow-white 
porticoed hacienda surrounded by its gardens and 
walks all emblazoned with the crimson and orange 
of a sub-tropical flora. 

But not a sound could you have heard and not a 
soul was to be seen nor any living creature, not 
even as much as a pet cat or rabbit sleeping in the 
noonday sunshine. Perfect stillness and peace 
everywhere. 

The attack on the hacienda had been planned to 
take place from three sides, viz, from the bush to 
the north or back part of the buildings, and from 
the high well-treed ground on each side. 

But the captain-commandant of the enemy, who 
on his good nag could ride round the flanks and in 
the rear of each company of his men, who in num¬ 
bers were 500 or over, told his officers at once that 


The Attack on the Hacienda 141 

the house must be deserted and their quarry or 
lawful prey fled. 

Fire was opened nevertheless from all sides and 
the Mauser bullets fell like fearful hail upon the 
shutters, and this was kept up for fully ten minutes. 

But never a single response came from the 
hacienda. It looked as cold, and was as silent as a 
charnel house. 

Adeane went from room to room, where whites 
and blacks were equally mixed. 

He was cheerfully excited. 

“ Keep up your hearts, my merry men. The en¬ 
emy are only just expending their ammunition.” 

The bugle on a hill now sounded “ Cease firing.” 

It was about midday and curious though it may 
appear these gallant soldiers of Spain must stop 
fighting and retire a considerable distance to eat 
their dinner, and smoke. 

They had come to the conclusion that no one 
was at home in the hacienda and knowing this as 
if by instinct, Adeane, for a few moments, was 
strangely tempted to take his brave fellows out by 
the front and out-flanking the foe in the bush, 
attack them in force while their rifles were 
stacked. 

But for his wife and child he would have done 
so. He communicated his idea to the doctor and 
to Father McDowney. 

“ Too risky and too rash ! ” said the latter. 

It was half an hour before firing was resumed, 


142 


Fighting For Cuba 

but the great white house remained as silent as a 
marble monument. 

Then once more the bugle rang out merrily, and 
its notes were reechoed from rock to rock. 

The Spaniards could now be seen running down 
the hillsides with their guns at the trail and con¬ 
centrating in the middle glen. 

Satisfied that the family had gone, a combined 
attack was to be made in the rear. 

Here stood the mill, and now Adeane cautiously 
and quickly withdrew five and twenty of his best 
men, through a sheltered pathway to the upper 
story of the great factory. The back part of this 
was also shuttered and pierced for rifle fire. More¬ 
over, here stood that vengeful petroleum-throwing 
catapult which Hodson himself was going to handle. 

The trunks of trees, some branchless, others with 
the branches on, were hauled down from the wood 
by the enemy, who now made their appearance. 

They came on very slowly, pausing oftentimes to 
listen and look. Then more boldly, until they 
were within fifty, forty, thirty, yards of the trocha 
of wire. 

“ I know their game ! ” said the doctor. “ They 
mean to bridge over the barbed wire fences, with 
the branched trees, scramble over and use the bare 
poles as battering rams.” 

“ Most excellent plan indeed. But I object to be¬ 
ing rushed. Hurry is bad for the nerves, I believe, 
doctor.” 


The Attack on the Hacienda 143 

“ That’s so, sir.” 

“ Are you ready, men ? ” 

“ All ready, sir! ” 

“ Then take good aim and blaze away ! ” 

The Spaniards were here, about 200 strong, the 
rest were still in the woods. 

Hardly had Adeane spoken the last word ere 
volley after volley from the repeating rifles was 
poured into the villainous ranks of the enemy. 

The confusion was terrible. For a moment they 
seemed too paralysed to move. Terrified moans 
arose from the wounded, while the living seemed 
inclined to huddle together for protection. 

Up went the shutter, and out went the nose of 
the catapult. 

“ They want a stimulant,” cried Hodson. “ They 
shall have it. Teddy, feed my pet.” 

Ted cautiously placed in a bomb, and away it 
sped. Then bomb after bomb to the number of six. 

Meanwhile with a wild shout the riflemen in the 
mill-loft kept up their fire, through the holes in the 
iron shutters. 

There was a response from the skirmishers in the 
woods, but it had no effect. It was but half¬ 
hearted. 

Were I to describe the scene that followed the 
explosion of those awful bombs, I should but har¬ 
row the feelings of my readers needlessly, and 
there are horrors enough described already with 
more, alas! to come. The fire spread in every di- 


144 Fighting For Cuba 

rection, but happily the volumes of thick black 
smoke hid the bodies of the writhing wretches on 
the ground. 

Only a few escaped. The rest were suffocated. 

Nothing could have succeeded better, therefore, 
than Adeane’s plan of defence. 

The rifles still rang out from the woods, but the 
firing ceased after a time. 

The Spaniards had received a lesson. 

The question that remained to be solved was 
this : “ Would they return ? ” 

No one was wounded inside as yet, and the cata¬ 
pult was uninjured. 

****** 

The day went slowly by. Oh, so slowly, but the 
woods were now as still as death. Then, sunset 
and darkness ensued. A darkness that could be 
felt in the minds of this beleaguered garrison. 

And in that darkness, what might not happen ? 

Adeane and the doctor now consulted together 
for a time, while the priest and Teddy bustled away 
to the kitchen to find food for the combatants and 
non-combatants of the garrison. All were hungry 
and not even Mrs. Adeane seemed much afraid, 
though the maid was. 

Aileen went trotting off to help Teddy. 

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, brother, you must let 
me be busy. When I work I will not think and 
tremble.” 


The Attack on the Hacienda 145 

On a sudden impulse Teddy took the beautiful 
child in his arms and kissed her tenderly. 

“ Always call me 4 brother/ ” he said, 44 till, per¬ 
haps, you may have an even fonder name for 
me.” 

And now having made up their minds, Adeane 
and his brave surgeon went alone to the mill, and 
first they carried down the light catapult placing it 
in a corner room of the hacienda itself. Then all 
the petroleum bombs. 

Next they lit candles which they placed in posi¬ 
tions whence their light might be seen through 
the shutters of the mill. 

This was all. 

They returned now, and carefully throwing down 
the little iron lids above the rifle-holes in the shut¬ 
ters, lit candles that the garrison might see to eat 
their food without any unsafe glimmer of light find¬ 
ing its way outside. 

The same was done in the dining-room, and here 
the family supped. 

Conversation was carried on in a low key, but no 
one now seemed afraid. 

At ten o’clock the ladies retired, Adeane warning 
them not to be afraid whatever they might hear, 
and above all to be silent. 

How slowly passed the night away! Adeane and 
his officers were slumbering in chairs, in an upper 
room, worn out at last. 

Then about four in the morning, just at the time 


146 Fighting For Cuba 

when it is darkest and coldest, suddenly from a hill 
above the hacienda came the roar of a cannon like 
the crack of doom. They could hear the noise of 
the ball as it tore through the air and expended its 
force on the east wall of the mill. 

Seeing the light glimmering there, the enemy had 
evidently concluded that there was the garrison. 

And this was precisely what Adeane desired them 
to imagine. He thought the light would draw their 
lire if they brought up a piece of ordnance, and he 
cared not for the mill being destroyed so long as 
his people in the hacienda should be spared. 

But more must be done, and with loaded rifles a 
party of ten of his best men, himself at their head, 
stood close by the mill loft ready to spring in and 
fire the moment the next ball struck. 

They had not long to wait. In three minutes’ 
time it dashed in a shutter and tore across the loft 
and out through another port. 

How was the time. They had noted the spot 
whence the blaze or spurt of fire came, and aiming 
as well as possible at that, they poured in what, in 
daylight, would have been withering volleys. 

“ Quick now, men. Come down! Your time is 
up! ” 

Alas! it was so for one man who was unable to 
escape soon enough. A cannon ball tore through 
his spine, and without a groan, he fell dead on the 
floor. 

The same tactics and method of firing was kept 


The Attack on the Hacienda 147 

up for a whole hour. As soon as the report of the 
gun was heard, the brave little band rushed in and 
replied with volleys, three and sometimes four. 

But one man more was killed and two were 
wounded. These last the doctor got lifted away 
and, following, attended to their wounds in one of 
the rooms of the hacienda. 

But now it was evident that the enemy was about 
to alter its tactics. It was quite ten minutes before 
the next shot poured out from the wooded hillside. 
Well was it for Adeane and his men that they were 
outside the loft, for this proved to be a shell, and it 
burst square in the centre of the loft, which in a few 
minutes more was all in a blaze. 

Luckily the wind was at present very light in¬ 
deed, and blowing the smoke and flames northward 
and away from the hacienda. 

So far this was good, but how long would the 
unequal conflict last and how soon might not the 
exasperated Spaniards commence to shell the house. 

“We must be prepared for anything,” said 
Adeane. 

“ May the Lord be on our side,” said Father Mc- 
Downey. “ But, captain, would it not be well now 
before sunrise to make a bit of a sortie and an effort 
to capture that gun. The odds are terrible, I ad¬ 
mit, but think of what our Irish ancestry did in the 
troublesome times against our ‘ friends ’ the fairplay 
Saxons, ha ! ha! ” 

The warlike little priest laughed sarcastically. 


148 Fighting For Cuba 

“ It is still dark,” he continued. “ We know where 
the gun is situated. Let us arm, and creep through 
the jungle on them, as quiet, to be sure, as a puma 
itself would.” 

“ I will take your advice,” said Adeane. “ It is a 
forlorn hope, and may God speed you. How many 
men shall you want ? ” 

“ Twenty whites sure enough, with repeating ri¬ 
fles and twenty sharpest swords. I will lead them. 
Hurrah ! We’ll all be Irish, and make a wilder and 
bigger battle cry than any 500 Sassenachs could get 
out of their wheezy thrapples ” (throats). 

“ Meanwhile,” he added, “ as the crowd of Dons 
will go yelling past the hacienda, let your trenches 
be manned with your bold blacks to give them fits 
as they fly.” 

In ten minutes’ time, and in single file, brave Mc- 
Downey and his fellows were making a detour 
through the woods; then they turned sharp to the 
left and soon found themselves high up-hill above 
the little army of Dons—about 200 strong, ap¬ 
parently, for they had drawn together and had 
lit a little fire in order to feed before resuming the 
battle. For your Don, on the war-path, loves not 
only his dinner, but as many more meals as he can 
lay his hands upon. 

They were laughing and talking, and in the still¬ 
ness of the dark night their voices were distinctly 
audible. 

“ The hacienda itself,” an officer was saying, “ will 


The Attack on the Hacienda 149 

soon fall now, and then, my braves, our feast and 
fun will begin in earnest. We shall spare none! ” 

The speaker was standing. 

In the glimmer of light the priest took steady aim 
and fired, and the officer dropped. 

This was the signal for a terrible volley, and, as 
fast as the men could move their triggers, the terri¬ 
ble repeaters poured death into those dense columns. 
Then, sword in hand, and with a shout that reechoed 
from rock to rock, they charged down on them. 

The enemy fled after firing one round, at random, 
for they saw no one as yet. 

The gun was speedily seized and rendered useless. 

They poured a farewell volley into the darkness 
after the Dons, and from their yells it was evident 
it had taken effect. 

But the fire of the enemy had, alas! been 
sadly effective. Poor Hodson was shot dead 
through the heart, and one other man wounded in 
the leg. The doctor hauled the latter toward the 
light and applied a tourniquet. Then both men 
were carried back to the hacienda. 

As they were leaving the wood they heard sev¬ 
eral rattling volleys, and knew that the Spaniards 
were catching it hot from the trenches and trochas. 

The fire in the mill continued to burn fiercely, 
and, as ill-luck would have it, the wind began to 
change and sparks were now being blown over the 
hacienda, as thickly as fall the flakes in a snow¬ 
storm. 


150 Fighting For Cuba 

Then up rose the sun and glimmered red through 
the forest trees in the east. 

Hodson was laid on the lawn beneath a splen¬ 
did crimson-flowered habiscus. He seemed calmly 
sleeping, and there was on his face what appeared 
to be a happy smile. 

“ Poor fellow, poor, brave fellow! ” said Adeane, 
“ his sorrows and troubles are all over. It is true 
he sleeps, but 

" * He sleeps the sleep that knows no breaking, 

Morn of toil nor night of waking.’ ” 

“The fighting is over for a time,” said Father 
McDowney, throwing down his sword. “Let us 
pray! ” 

All knelt, and even the darkies from the trenches, 
with the morning sunshine glancing red from their 
wet, dark bodies, joined that sad meeting. 

There was no gloom in the prayer that the priest 
prayed, nor in the hymn that followed. But it 
breathed of hope and trust in the Power that makes 
the sun to rise, the flowers to bloom and the blue 
rivers to flow joyfully on to the still bluer sea, just 
as our lives do drift onward and on, though wind¬ 
ing oft, till they reach and mingle with the great 
ocean of Eternity. 


CHAPTER XII 


"' War is War/ said Weyler. So say I/' 
cried Adeane 

“ Again to the battle Achaians! 

Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance! 

Our land, the first garden of Liberty’s Tree 
It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.” 

— Campbell. 

The worthy Dr. Eamsay did all in his power to 
save his patient, but—in vain. He had lost a large 
amount of blood, and though the severed femoral 
artery had been tied, he rapidly sank and died 
peacefully, just as the great clock on the hacienda 
solemnly tolled the hour of ten. 

Both men were buried in the grounds. 

By this time the shutters on the north side of 
Adeane’s dear old Cuban home, had become red 
hot, and presently a spiral jet of smoke rose from 
the roof. It was evident to all, therefore, that the 
building itself, like the mill, was doomed. 

At great risk to the men, the big catapult and 
the petroleum bombs were got out, and all portable 
valuables, for if fortune should favour them, in the 
event of another attack, and should they be able to 
repel it, Adeane determined that in the darkness of 

151 


152 Fighting For Cuba 

the night they would endeavour to make an escape 
by a northern mountain track, and if possible find 
their way to the nearest insurgent camp. 

By two o’clock, during the very fiercest heat of 
the day, the hacienda was in a blaze from basement 
to roof. It was a sad—an awful sight. The win¬ 
dows, despite the shutters, were blown out, one by 
one, followed by eruptions of rolling clouds of 
smoke and tongues of fire that followed these sky¬ 
ward, darting hither and thither like fiery swords. 
And the smoke and sparks were carried far over 
the green beauty of the southern woods. 

Adeane, with his companions and men, were ap¬ 
palled at the ferocity of the flames. Luckily the 
grounds all around were extensive, else the heat 
from the burning mansion would have been insup¬ 
portable. 

From a corner of one trench, men were now set 
to work busily, and in two hours’ time they had 
excavated a cave, propping the roof up with heavy 
timbers, into which the ladies of the establishment 
and several female servants could hide from the storm 
of bullets that sooner or later Adeane knew must 
sweep through the trocha and across the grounds. 

But indeed both Mrs. Adeane and Aileen behaved 
now with marvelous pluck, and with that calmness 
and self-possession which is one of the chief attri¬ 
butes of true courage. 

On the whole, Adeane’s arrangements and the 
forethought he had displayed from the very com- 


" War is War” 


J 53 

mencement would have caused him to be respected 
as a general and soldier, had the army been his 
choice in life instead of the speculator’s office. 

When all was done that could be done, dinner 
was served in the trenches, and after this, at a sug¬ 
gestion from Father McDowney, the main brace 
was spliced. 

Then came a long and weary wait. 

This was worse than anything else, for a busy- 
minded man would far sooner work or even fight 
than wait. 

“Perhaps, dear,” said Mrs. Adeane to her hus¬ 
band, who sat with Teddy near her in the cool cave. 
“ Perhaps the Spaniards may not return at all.” 

“ O, wouldn’t that be nice, Teddy ? ” added Ai- 
ieen, who was seated on her new brother’s knee. 

“ Yes, Aileen; but never mind, let them come; we 
can fight them and make them fly once more, only 
you must not scream or be afraid.” 

“ O, I won’t. I love to hear the guns go crack— 
crack—cricketty-crack, and see the flash. May I 
not just peep round the corner of the cage when 
you are fighting, to see the fireworks ? ” 

“No, no, Aileen. Promise me you won’t.” 

Aileen turned her head a little to one side for a 
few moments in a considering kind of way. Then 
she said slowly: 

“ No, brother; I don’t think I’d better promise, 
because you see one never knows what may happen.” 

As the afternoon passed by and the sun began to 


154 


Fighting For Cuba 

decline toward the western hills, there came a min¬ 
strel to the mouth of the cave. 

It was Father McDowney himself. And he had 
his fiddle in his hand. 

Father McDowney would rather have left his 
watch and all the money he possessed in the burn¬ 
ing hacienda than his dear old Strad. 

“By your leave,” he said; and Adeane smiled 
and nodded. 

As he turned up the pegs and brought the instru¬ 
ment into tune, he kept talking. “Nero,” he said, 
“ played the fiddle when Rome was burning, and 
everybody blames him for doing so till this day. 
Sure, I wouldn’t be down on Nero for all the world. 
It was for comfort’s sake he fiddled, and now I’m 
going to fiddle while the most beautiful hacienda in 
all Cuba is blazing to the blue sky.” 

At that moment a noise like thunder was heard, 
and sparks and flames shot upward as if from the 
mouth of an active volcano. 

The roof had fallen in, the hacienda was now but 
a smouldering ruin! 

Just one plaintive and beautiful old Irish song, 
“ The Wearing of the Green,” did this kindly honest 
priest first sing and play. A song it was that 
brought the tears to even Aileen’s eyes, a song that 
goes to the heart of every Irishman when he hears 
it played in far-off foreign lands, for dearly do all 
Celtic nations, whether Irish, Welsh or Scotch, love 
the land that gave them birth. 


" War is War " 


»55 


But gallant Father McDowney was not content 
with playing sad airs to his people—songs that 
melted the heart and brought bonnie Erin and their 
bygone days, Erin with its smiles and its tears, 
vividly back before their eyes; so no sooner had 
the last note of “ The Wearing of the Green ” melted 
away in long drawn cadence than he broke into one 
of the wildest, merriest jigs ever played on a fiddle 
or listened to at Donnybrook Fair. 

There were no more tears, no more moist eyes 
now. 

“ Hooch ! ” cried the priest as he played. 

The very fiddle itself gave the Irish “ Hooch! ” 

“ Hooch! ” shouted Paddy O’Ryan, with a hand 
in the air. “ Bedad! it’s a milestone itself that 
would dance to that same. Whoop! ” 

In another moment there were fifteen brave Irish¬ 
men dancing just there in the trench to the priest’s 
glorious music. What cared they for the heat of 
the day? What cared they, just then, for woes 
gone past or foes to come. An Irishman laughs in 
the ranks when marching on to battle and — 

“ Moves to death with military glee.” 

But when the fun was at its wildest, there mingled 
with the music the rattle of musketry fire from the 
bush, and bullets flew over the heads of the dancers 
and flattened themselves on the ruined walls of the 
hacienda. 

Father McDowney finished the jig, though. Then 


156 Fighting For Cuba 

he put his “ darling,” as he called the fiddle, care¬ 
fully away in her box and picked up his rifle. 

The fighting now began in deadly earnest, but so 
well were Adeane’s men protected, that it was only 
while delivering a volley with heads slightly raised 
above the trench that the Spaniards had a chance. 
They were all too successful, for one black man was 
shot through the head and two wounded. 

The firing was kept up thus for nearly an hour, 
and no doubt that from the trenches did good serv¬ 
ice, but it was difficult to see the enemy, so hidden 
were they among the trees. 

And, save for the constant rattle of their rifles, 
their numbers could not be guessed at. 

The doctor proposed a sortie sword in hand, but 
Captain Adeane only shook his head. 

“We could clear them out of there, though,” he 
added, “ and fire the bush by means of a petroleum 
bomb or two.” 

“ I’ll work the catapult,” cried the warlike priest. 

“ I will, and not you,” said the doctor. 

“ I had the word before you, doctor dear.” 

“ It is a work of great danger, forlorn hope, 
indeed, and I fear to lose either of you.” This 
from Adeane. 

Father McDowney crossed himself and his lips 
seemed to move in prayer. Then waiting for the 
ring of the enemy’s next volley and the whizzing, 
pinging sound of the bullets overhead, he ran along 
the trench and leapt nimbly up. 


44 War is War " 


'57 

The catapult was quickly but quietly hauled out 
from under its protecting bushes and carefully 
loaded. 

Then the brave fellow took careful, steady aim. 
Not a bit of hurry did he seem to be in, though bul¬ 
lets flew past him like hail. The brim of his 
broad hat and even his jacket sleeve were pierced, 
but he himself—the hero—stood intact. He 
seemed God-protected. 

The bomb leaves the catapult. Slowly it flies, but 
it gets there all the same. Next moment there is a 
roar like thunder. Bright are the beams of the 
sun, but the red tongues of fire can be seen darting 
in all directions, and the grass and bush catch fire. 

There is a yell of pain and agony as fifty men 
run staggering and tumbling from their cover. 
The priest heads them off with another bomb, and 
at the same moment a well-aimed volley is poured 
into their ranks from the trench and more men reel 
and stumble, falling dead or wounded in the open. 

One more bomb to the south, and back comes 
Father McDowney, laughing. 

“ Fve brought out my bat,” he says, with a broad 
grin. He is received by loud cheers, as he coolly 
picks up his rifle and looks at the breech. 

“ Eun round to that corner, Teddy,” cries 
Adeane, now, “ and watch the enemy. Don’t get 
shot, boy, but there is a portion of the defending 
trocha very weak at the other side. They are sure 
to discover it. Are you listening ? ” 


158 Fighting For Cuba 

“ Yes, Captain Adeane. I’m taking in every 
word you say.” 

“Well, I shall stand by this post, and when the 
enemy are as thick at that portion of the trocha as 
a cluster of bees, signal to me.” 

Teddy was off on his mission in a moment, and 
after a time, which seemed to those in the trenches 
to be interminable, he raised his hand as a signal. 

Captain Adeane touched a button. 

A roar like that from an active volcano shook the 
very ground on which they stood. 

Every eye was turned in the direction whence 
the awful sound had proceeded. 

Even Aileen could stand it no more and rushed 
from the cave to cling to her father’s arm. 

A mine had been sprung, while fully forty men 
were over it, and with fearful results. A great 
ball of black smoke was yonder, but straight into 
the air, and through its centre were shot lines of 
earth and stones and fire, with shattered limbs and 
bodies of men. 

In the debris thus raised, Teddy McCoy stood 
staggered and aghast to see a severed arm—nothing 
attached to it, but still clutching its Mauser rifle. 

This may seem awful, but it is nevertheless true. 
Captain Adeane’s brows were knit, and there was a 
mingled look of sternness and sorrow on his face. 

“‘War is war,’ said Weyler, and so say I,” he 
cried. 

“ Poor devils,” muttered the priest, “ but their 


sorrows are over, and they’ll never know what hurt 
them.” 

There was now a long lull in the battle. For 
the Spaniards had retreated back south and into 
the bush. 

“ Perhaps they’re going to dine,” said the doctor, 
laughing. 

“ Very likely,” said Adeane. “ That is just their 
way.” 

But one disagreeable fact remained. The ex¬ 
plosion of the mine had torn down the defences 
and almost bridged over that particular portion of 
the trench. Should the enemy now return in full 
strength an easy triumph would be theirs. 

Adeane’s good fellows would fight to the death, 
but against great numbers they were bound soon 
to disappear. 

And massacre would follow. 

There was no time to repair damages or re-for- 
tify, so Adeane did the next best thing, he brought 
up his forces close to the gap, and the catapult was 
once more drawn forward and hidden behind a 
bush just facing the gap. 

Many an anxious look did Adeane now take at 
the slowly declining sun and the lengthening shad¬ 
ows of the trees. 

“ O, if night and darkness would only come,” he 
said more than once, “ that we might escape ! ” 

u We are in good hands,” said Father McDowney, 
consolingly. “ Are we not ? ” 


i6o Fighting For Cuba 

“ I know it. I know it,” replied Captain Adeane. 
“It is not for myself I care. We are men, father, 
and can meet death, yet never blanch, but my wife 
and daughter. Ah ! McDowney, were they only 
out of danger, how much more bravely I should 
proceed to defend that gap. Besides-” 

Adeane never concluded that sentence. 

“ Hark ! ” cried Teddy. “ Hark ! sir. Don’t you 
hear it ? ” 

“ I hear a strange, confused noise. The attack is 
about to commence.” 

“We are ready, Ted,” he added. “ And now ’tis 
do or die ! ” 

“ But, sir, it is possible my hearing is better than 
yours. That is no advance of the foe. Hark! 
again, sir. You hear that wild shout?” 

“ I hear it. I hear it.” 

“ The insurgents are coming to our aid. They 
have attacked and will soon rout the cowardly sol¬ 
diers of Spain. O sir, aren’t you happy now ? ” 

“Ay, ay,” cried Adeane, joyfully, “and may 
heaven give strength to their arms! ” 

* Bun, Aileen, dear,”—for the child still stood in 
the trench—“ run and tell mother that our friends 
are not far off and may soon be here. Bun, run.” 

Aileen needed no second bidding. 

Meanwhile, mingling with the shouting far down 
in the bush could now be heard the sharp ringing 
of revolver shots and anon the clashing of swords. 

That a battle was going on was evident, and it 



"War is War" 161 

could only be betwixt the insurgents and the 
Spaniards. 

Who would win ? 

Much would undoubtedly depend upon the com¬ 
parative number of men in each faction. Victory, 
however, would not necessarily lean toward the 
side of the strongest force if these were the tatter¬ 
demalion soldiers of the enemy. Whether on foot 
or astride of their hardy and active horses a Cuban 
considered himself the equal of two if not three 
Dons. 

Ah! readers, in warfare, just as at football, there 
is nothing like having a good opinion of one’s own 
prowess. No use feeling your muscles or looking 
at your legs. If you are fit, and are happy, the 
nerve that is in you and which carries the vital 
energy directly from the brain and spinal cord will 
lead you through. I have seen men do marvels— 
thin, wiry men with but little muscle—both on the 
battlefield and on the grass. And the Cubans were 
just such men. Not an ounce of extra and useless 
fat. Poor fellows, they did not get enough food to 
fatten a cat. But they had indomitable will, they 
were fighting for their wives and families, or their 
sisters and sweethearts, and the hatred they had 
for the foe was only equalled by the love they 
bore for the beautiful land that had given them 
birth. 

The battle down yonder raged loud and long, and 
Adeane was undecided as to whether or not he 


162 


Fighting For Cuba 

should go with a portion of his little garrison to 
the aid of his friends. 

Suddenly, however, the war cries and shouting 
became hoarser and higher. 

One side was winning. 

“ It must be the insurgents! ” cried Ted. “ Those 
wild slogans could never come from the pipey 
throats of the Dons.” 

Then the sounds went farther and farther off and 
finally died slowly away in the distance. 

Our friends in the fort waited and waited a 
weary time. 

The sun was apparently within a yard of the 
distant wooded hilltops. 

“ Listen! ” cried Teddy once more. “ Don’t you 
hear it now, Father McDowney ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” was the quick reply. “ ’Tis music; 
the roll of the drum, the sweet notes of the flageo¬ 
let. A psean of victory! ” 

This gallant priest who could stand so calmly 
and so coolly at the great catapult, while bullets 
sang around him, was excited now, nervously, in¬ 
tensely so. 

“The victory is ours,” he cried. <c ¥e are saved ! ” 

He caught little Aileen up and kissed her. He 
shook hands with Adeane, with the doctor, with 
Ted, and would you believe it, the tears were 
streaming over the honest fellow’s face. 

And just as the first horsemen came cantering 
into the clearing below, a shout arose from the 


" War is War" 163 

hacienda-fort that startled the very birds from the 
trees. 

Ay, and it was reechoed, you may safely say, 
from the throats of those war-worn soldiers and 
heroes. 

Through the gateway they poured now, past the 
scene of the mine explosion with its ghastly com- 
minglement of torn and shattered corpses. 

In they poured, in and in. 

And the first soldier to dismount—ragged in coat 
was he and hatless, his face covered with dust, and 
blood on his jacket sleeve—ran at once to the spot 
where Mrs. Adeane and little Aileen stood trans¬ 
fixed. 

“ Darlings, don’t you know me ? ” he cried. 

Next moment Desmond had thrown himself into 
his mother’s arms, while Aileen hugged his hand 
and wept. 


THE END OF BOOK I. 










BOOK n 

America to the Rescue 

c ‘ Once more into the breach, once more; 

Or close the wall up with our dead! 

In peace there is nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility. 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears 
Then imitate the action of the tiger; 

Stiffen the sinews—and summon up the blood.’* 

— Shakespeare. 


J 


CHAPTER I 

The Eagle Swoops Down from His Eyrie 

“ But Linden showed another sight, 

When drums beat at the dead of night, 

Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of the scenery.” 

“ Cry «Havoc! ’ and let slip the dogs of war.” 

Had you been walking alone on the seabeach of 
Key West on that eventful night—April 21st, 1898, 
—scarcely might you have been able to suppress a 
little shudder as you glanced around you, or sea¬ 
ward. 

About six by the clock, or four bells by the 
men-o’-war that lay at anchor in the harbour, and 
the sun had sunk—a deep saturnine red—behind the 
waves. 

A scimitar of a moon hopeful and bright there 
had been. It had cast, however, but a few glances 
athwart the gloom, then disappeared, and the stars 
though clear enough, were mostly hidden by fleece- 
lets of cloud. 

Across the sea, you would have noted the black 
smooth backs of great heaving waves, that anon 
broke lazily on the shore just near you. Farther 

167 


i68 


Fighting For Cuba 

out a long strip of snow-white water marking a dan¬ 
gerous coral reef. And far beyond this, twinkling 
lights that might easily have been mistaken for 
stars burning low on the horizon. They were in 
reality the lamps gleaming at the mast-heads of the 
American Flagship New York and her splendid 
consorts, the battle-ships Iowa and Indiana. 

A still, solemn, somewhat dismal night, but turn¬ 
ing townward, you breathe more freely when you 
stand in the wide and busy streets. 

Well lighted are they everywhere, and though 
the houses are built of wood, their windows to¬ 
night make a lively show. 

Here displayed is everything likely to tempt our 
bold sailor Jackie to part with his dollars. Jackie 
is in great evidence. 

He hitches up his wide-legged trowsers as he 
walks along the broad pavement singing merrily if 
not loudly to himself, or stops a moment in front of 
a stall or store, wondering what he might buy and 
send home to his own best girl living far away. 

Jackie is yonder too in the street cars, by the 
half-dozen, for you don’t find Jackie walking a long 
distance if he can ride. 

But hark! a wild and joyful shout from the 
street, repeated again and again till the welkin 
rings or glasses jingle on the shelves, which is 
much about the same. 

Have the goods folks of Key West all taken 
sudden leave of their seven senses ? Americans, 


The Eagle Swoops Down from His Eyrie 169 

Britishers should remember, have seven senses each, 
or—avast! isn’t it seventeen ? 

Jackie hasn’t long to wait and wonder. 

In bursts a portion of the crew of a boat from 
the flagship. 

“ Turn out, my boys. Turn out, men. War is 
declared! ” 

“ Kiss your girls good-bye and march ! ” 

“Just one more dance,” cries Jackie, “Hurrah! 
Hurrah! ” 

A little sentiment on the part of the girls, a few 
foolish tears and Jackie is gone. 

Swift, I think it was, who said: 

“.that every creature 

Lives in a state of war by nature." 

Swift or Hobbes, or whoever made this remark, 
was probably right. 

Anyhow I do know, that nothing in this world, 
in any country I am acquainted with, causes half 
the stir that, in towns and cities, the departure of 
troops, blue-jackets or marines does. 

On the declaration of war with Spain, America 
went mad, apparently. When volunteers poured 
in, and when the brave fellows marched up the 
crowded streets for embarkation, America went 
madder. Such shouting, such screaming, such wav¬ 
ing of tear-bedewed handkerchiefs from every win¬ 
dow along the route, had never been witnessed 
before, since the early sixties. But civilians, both 



* 7 ° Fighting For Cuba 

men and women, invaded and broke the ranks that 
they might shake hands with the lads, bless them 
and bid them good speed; blessing, ay and kissing 
too. The prettier girls did the kissing and even 
their sweethearts, who were to stay at home—per¬ 
haps promising to go to the war later on—had not 
the heart to object to this promiscuous osculation. 

By one o’clock in the morning the city of Key 
West had calmed down very considerably. But all 
night long it was busy, busy times in the harbour, 
where the bulk of the noble North Atlantic squad¬ 
ron was lying. 

The name Key West is given to a string of small 
islands lying about sixty miles to the south of 
Florida. The city which is also the capital of 
county Munro is built on the largest island, which 
however is not more than seven miles long by 
two or three miles broad. The island is beautiful, 
though there being no hills at all of any kind its 
beauties are like those of England—which in con¬ 
tradistinction to Scotland—Lord Gordon Byron, 
that true Scot and bard, describes as tame and do¬ 
mestic. 

“ England thy beauties are tame and domestic 

To one who has roamed on the mountains afar! 

Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic 

The deep frowning glories of dark Loch-na-garr.” 

But, although this flowery isle of the ocean is 
almost a dead level, it has been formed by coral 
and used even as a health resort. Turtles are ex- 


The Eagle Swoops Down from His Eyrie 171 

ported hence for lands far north and east, also 
sponges, with fruit and vegetables and good cigars 
galore. 

A fort frowns over the entrance to the harbour, 
but what its fighting capabilities may or may not 
be, I really cannot say. The words Key West are 
simply a corruption of the Spanish Cayo Hueso , the 
“ rock of bones.” Right well named thus, for on 
dark and stormy nights, many and many a good 
ship has struck on the reefs around it, and now 
down on the white, white coral or among the 
lovely living flowers in the sub-ocean gardens, sail¬ 
ors’ bones lie bleaching. 

Before following the fleet, let us take a shore 
boat and shove off to a beautiful and sturdy yacht, 
that is lying at anchor yonder in Key West 
harbour. 

Why it is our old friend the Bonito, and here, 
just come up from breakfast, and walking steadily 
up and down her ivory-white quarter-deck, over 
which the awning is still spread, is Captain Adeane 
himself, with our brave and gallant Father Mc- 
Downey. By and by, Aileen and her mother come 
up and sink into deck-chairs to read or to imagine 
they are reading. Walking solemnly behind is 
Charlie Chat, Cheese seated on his back and purr¬ 
ing aloud. 

Very pretty, indeed, does Aileen look to-day in 
her white gauzy frock, with bodice of green and 
dainty straw hat. She has a book, but I cannot be- 


1 7 2 


Fighting For Cuba 

lieve she is reading very much, so frequently do her 
eyes wander westward and away over the sea. For 
Desmond has sailed to-day in the flagship—his 
father having easily obtained a cadetship for him. 

Aileen thinks of him, but she thinks a little also 
of Teddy, the poor Irish boy, as he called himself, 
as often, or nearly as often. 

He, too, had gone to join the service, but simply 
in the capacity of an able-bodied seaman, with Com¬ 
modore Schley, one of the pluckiest and cleverest 
officers in any American squadron. 

Teddy’s abilities were of no mean order. He was 
a capital clerk and good writer of shorthand, and 
Adeane could have placed this young business man 
of his in a much higher position. The lad’s reply 
to this proposal was simple enough, but effective. 

“ I shouldn’t care at all, at all,” he said, “ to be in 
the purser’s department. I want to see some fight¬ 
ing. It will be a rest to me! ” 

“ It is a pity,” Mrs. Adeane had remarked in her 
motherly way, “that the two boys can’t be to¬ 
gether.” 

But as we see, fate has decided it otherwise. 

That was almost an ocean race southward to 
Havana from Key West. This city, a glance at the 
map will show the reader, lies on the north side of 
Cuba, having on the west shore Antonio and west¬ 
ward still the large district of Pinar del Rio, already 
mentioned in this “ ower true tale.” Many miles to 
the east of Havana, is the city of Matanzas, a well 


The Eagle Swoops Down from His Eyne 173 

fortified place and one of great importance com¬ 
mercially. Its population is about 100,000, all told. 
Then comes Cardenas. The island of Cuba is alto¬ 
gether nearly 800 miles in length, and of various 
widths, from say fifty to eighty or 100 miles. As 
long as the map is in our hands, it may be well to 
take a glance at its southern shores. 

We note here Cienfuegos—(pronounce Thee-en- 
foo-ay-gos)—also an important town of about 70,- 
000 souls. It is connected with Havana by rail, a 
journey of 160 miles. On this line during the war 
ran the ironclad railway carriages with loopholed 
shutters, filled with armed men ready and willing 
to give a good account of the insurgents if they tried 
to wreck or derail the train. 

In the Caribbean Sea we notice the Isle of Pines, 
where the Bonito lay until rejoined by Adeane and 
his people after their escape from the ruined planta¬ 
tion and hacienda. 

But Santiago (pronounce San-tee-ah-go) and the 
district around it, are now as they have been in the 
first book of this story, our chief seat of interest. 
For here the bravest deeds in this sad war were 
done, as we shall presently see. 

****** 

The Americans are a hospitable, kind and tender¬ 
hearted people. To this fact I can give my personal 
testimony. They are, moreover, sympathetic to a 
degree. How could it be otherwise ? Are they not 
our own people ? Our own cousins at all events. 


2 74 


Fighting For Cuba 

And could they have been expected to look calmly 
on forever at the horrors, the cruelties, the mas¬ 
sacres that were being enacted at their very gates 
by a brutal nation upon a gentle, humble people, 
whose only wish was to cultivate their fields in 
peace and freedom. 

I have already described many of these night¬ 
mare terrors. But listen while I make an extract 
or two from Davis and Morris. When the fiend 
Weyler put in force his painfully ridiculous recon¬ 
centration decree against the toilers of the country, 
non-combatants or pacificos, only eight days were 
given to them to come into the fortified places, 
leaving their homes to be burnt and laid waste by 
prowling Spanish troops. If they did not come 
within this specified time, they were to be shot on 
sight. 

For the “accommodation” of these unfortu¬ 
nates, the most low-lying and swampy grounds in 
the immediate vicinity of towns were selected. 

’Twixt Havana and Matanzas on the north is a 
town called Jaruco. In this “ the filth lay ankle- 
deep in streets and plaza and found its way into the 
church occupied as a barrack. The pacificos had 
closely-built rows of huts holding from four to ten 
persons each, while ten feet away were the cavalry 
barracks, men and horses in a dangerous state of 
uncleanliness. . . . Smallpox swept like a con¬ 

suming fire through huts and barracks alike. De¬ 
cency of any kind was out of the question. Utter 


The Eagle Swoops Down from His Eyrie 175 

dejection or hopelessness was the aspect of the 
pacificos. Gaunt, hollow-eyed, half-clad in rags, 
they sat listless, too regardless of anything on earth, 
even to lift their eyes if money or food were given 
them. Babies there were covered with sores and 
with the skin drawn so tightly over their little 
bodies, that the bones showed through as plainly as 
rings worn under a glove. . . . The scarcity of 

food increased and with it the death-rate. . . . 

The unfortunates were for the most part women 
and children or aged and helpless men, enfeebled 
by disease and hunger, and could not have tilled the 
soil without tools, seed or shelter to provide for 
their own support or for the supply of the cities.” 

Was it any wonder that, knowing such misery and 
cruelties far worse than these were taking place just 
outside her gates, America advised Spain, counselled 
her, remonstrated with her and finally declared war 
against the land. 

There have been British papers that have openly 
hinted that the great republic merely meant to 
make war for the sake of aggrandisement. 

This is false; as false as the Father of Lies him¬ 
self. 

It was in the month of March that a company of 
men from Congress paid a visit to Cuba, hoping 
against hope that things might be just a little bet¬ 
ter than they had been reported. 

Alas! they found matters worse than they had 
expected. They saw with their own eyes the sad 


176 Fighting For Cuba 

and hopeless condition of the wretched reconcen- 
trados, dying of starvation and loathsome disease, 
around the towns, where they had been not lodged 
but positively ditched among reeking filth and 
slime, unburied bodies of children and babies swel¬ 
tering in the sun or being devoured by hungry dogs 

“ With more of fearful and awful 

That e’en to name would be unlawful! ” 

The tale they told on their return, in plain, quiet 
and simple language, roused the anger of our 
American cousins to fever heat, and they shouted 
aloud for intervention and for war. 

Then had come the last and final act of Spain’s 
madness; the destruction of the United States 
man-o’-war ship, Maine, in Havana harbour. 

This it was which lit at last the fires of battle 
and of death. 


CHAPTER II 

A Dark Night's Work 

** And pity, like a naked newborn babe 
Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubim, horsed 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 

That tears shall drown the wind.”— Shakespeare. 

The United States North Atlantic squadron, 
under cool and daring Commodore Sampson, sailed, 
as we have seen, early on the morning of April 
22d, to blockade Havana and to make it just as 
warm for the Spaniards, all around Cuba and in it, 
as they knew how to. 

Let us leave them ploughing their way through 
the clear waters of the bright blue sea, while we 
hark back a few weeks and learn the story of the 
Maine; the destruction of that good old ship, being 
without doubt, the last straw that led to the break¬ 
ing of the elephant’s back—the elephant on this oc¬ 
casion being as the Irish soldier said, “ durty little 
Spain.” 

It used to be the double-faced and positive child¬ 
ishness of the Spaniards, that the people of the 
United Kingdom of Great Britain, while reading 
the daily newspapers, scorned and hated. For these 

177 


178 Fighting For Cuba 

Dons, fools themselves, evidently thought they 
could “ draw the winkers ” over the eyes of others. 

The government of Spain, early in the year of 
1898, innocently—O ever so innocently! and with 
such charming naivete, informed the Americans that 
they would be doing a good thing and a charitable one 
if they contributed to the relief and improvement of 
poor Cuba—the Cuba, mind, that they themselves 
were doing all in their power to remove off the 
face of the earth. The money they said—a mere 
detail—might be sent to the American consuls and 
distributed by them to the starving Cubans. 

But the Yankees are astute. They can generally 
see as far through a millstone as the miller himself, 
so they took no notice of this two-faced and inso¬ 
lent request. 

In the middle of January, owing to this proposal 
of the Spaniards, a terrible riot ensued in Havana, 
in which town, hatred of the Americans had long 
been festering and bubbling like a plague pit. 

But the United States government dispatched 
troops to protect their consulate. 

It was evident enough now that the Spaniards 
were secretly preparing for war. This was a game 
that two could play at, though America did not 
hide cards up her sleeve. She openly sent the 
North Atlantic squadron to anchor at Key West 
and islands adjacent thereto. This was on the 20th 
of January, 1898, and as war was not declared till 
just three months after this, one may guess what a 


A Dark Night's Work 179 

long, irksome and weary time of it Jackie Tar and 
his officers had. 

To us, the ships themselves, seemed weary, and as 
they swung with the tide, “ titted ” and tugged at 
their anchors, rising and pulling on the heaving 
seas, in the most impatient manner. 

“ Let us free, let us free,” they seemed to cry. 
“ Our coals are on board, our guns are ready to 
load, our men are burning for action. Let us free 
and we’ll raise a storm on the blue ocean, the thun¬ 
ders of which will shake the rotten old throne of 
Spain to its very foundation.” 

It was on the twenty-fifth, that the oldest bat¬ 
tle-ship in the American navy—the unfortunate 
Maine was ordered to Havana. 

The Spaniards didn’t like it. 

“ What is this for I wonder ? ” asked one officer 
in high quarters. 

“ That question is easily answered,” another said, 
with a sneer. “ She comes here as the thin end of 
the ‘ wedge.’ ” 

“ May she rot where she lies! ” said the former 
speaker. 

“ Or be blown to dust, general! ” 

The general made no reply. He frowned a little 
but smiled a devil’s smile. 

And the Spaniards tried now to win over the 
affections of the better class of Cubans in Havana. 

A Spaniard is hard to beat when it comes to 
genuine blarney. 


i8o 


Fighting For Cuba 


“ The Americans are our common foe,” they said, 
insinuatingly. “Let bygones be bygones. Use 
your influence to arouse real patriotism in your 
confreres, the insurgents, else America will enslave 
the whole island. We will make concessions, the 
Yankees will only use the sword! ” 

I am sorry to say that they got too many to be¬ 
lieve them—in Havana that is. 

But not all. 

For, not long after the arrival of the doomed 
Maine, a letter from the representative of Spain in 
Washington was addressed to an officer at Havana, 
who had been sent by the Spanish home govern¬ 
ment to enquire into the “ true state of affairs,”— 
just as if a Don would give anything, save a garbled 
account, favourable to his country and his country’s 
generals, but damnatory to the bleeding Cubans. 

This, however, had never reached the Senor Can- 
alejas. It was stolen by a Cuban, and found its 
way into the American press. The original letter, 
which was photographed for the newspapers, now 
lies in the archives at Washington. In it this dou¬ 
ble-faced Don, the writer, described President Mc¬ 
Kinley as a guttersnipe politician and low man, only 
catering for the rabble. 

The storm of rage raised in the breasts of the 
Yankees was so great that had they got hold 
of this Enrique de Lome fellow, it is just as likely 
as not that they would have hanged him over a 
bridge. 


A Dark Night's Work 181 

But he handed in his resignation and left America 
in great haste. 

The Destruction of the Maine 

That sad night of the fifteenth of February will 
never be forgotten in Cuba. 

Conspirators and murderers usually prefer dark¬ 
ness in which to commit some awful deed, and this 
night was certainly to their taste. Nor did they 
wait until midnight. For at that hour the silence 
would be even greater than it was about ten, and a 
better watch would be kept on board. At the time 
that the mine or torpedo was exploded, the lamps 
on the streets gave but an uncertain light, which 
scarce could penetrate the blackness around them. 
The harbour front was almost deserted. For no one 
expected that anything unusual was about to occur. 
But merchant-boats glided to and fro and men towed 
somewhat unsteadily off to their ships, singing reck¬ 
lessly and loudly, as merchant sailors do. 

Ten o’clock, therefore, or some minutes before, 
was a well-chosen time for the carrying out of a 
cruel and dastardly project. 

The crew of the Maine—bar those on watch— 
had turned in and were sleeping innocently enough 
in their bunks, for the orders were that they should 
not linger after dark about the saloons or wine 
shops of Cuba, for fear of a riot that would cer¬ 
tainly end in bloodshed. Like the British tar, the 
American Jackie much prefers to use his fists in- 


182 Fighting For Cuba 

stead of a knife, when he gets into a row. The Don 
is different. 

Captain Sigsbee, of the Maine, was also in his 
bunk, and his commander, Wainwright, was seated 
in his own cabin, in a little rocker, calmly enjoying 
a whiff. 

He was probably thinking of home and the 
dear ones far away, at the very moment that a ter¬ 
rible explosion occurred with a kind of quadruple 
rolling, roaring sound, that lifted his chair from 
the deck, threw him on the floor and plunged him 
into darkness cimerian. 

He was unhurt, but quite sensible that something 
terrible had happened! 

His first thoughts flew to the magazines forward, 
where he knew that about six tons of gunpowder 
were stowed. “ That must have exploded,” he said 
to himself. 

Meanwhile where were the matches ? He groped 
aimlessly about and finally found them on the deck. 

He speedily lit his candle-in-jumbles, and hurried 
aft to the captain’s quarters. 

Sigsbee was safe, although the explosion had 
hurled him from his cot. 

An eyewitness, who was near the harbour at the 
time and gazing toward the harbour lights, says that 
when he heard the awful earth-shaking roar, his 
eyes, though he had been thrown down, were turned 
upon the Maine. He saw an immense burst of flame, 
shaped, he said, like a gigantic shuttle-cock, dart 


A Dark Night's Work 183 

skyward from the doomed man-o’-war and right 
from the centre of a circular cloud of white smoke. 
And in that flame, he assured me—though this 
might have been imagination—he could see not only 
torn and riven planks and ravelled cordage, but the 
mangled limbs and trunks of men. 

Every electric light was extinguished all around 
this man, poles thrown down in all directions, and 
the city—as if by an earthquake—shaken to its very 
foundations. The glass in the windows being not 
only broken, but, as he afterward found out, re¬ 
duced in many instances to powder. 

A moment of awful silence, then words evidently 
shouted through the megaphone 1 fell on his ear: 

“ Forward—there if anyone is alive—flood the 
magazines.” 

It is certain, at all events, that whether I can 
credit my informant or not, some such words were 
actually used by Commander Wainwright, but alas! 
the brave fellows who flew to do his bidding per¬ 
ished. 

The magazines might have been already flooded 
by the rapid inpouring of the water after the ex¬ 
plosion of the mine. 

Be this as it may, certain it is that the Maine was 
blown up by enemies. Certain it is that she took 

1 An instrument probably first used in this sad war, which has now 
quite superseded the speaking trumpet. It increases the sound of the 
human voice twenty-fold, and may be heard above the roar of battle 
itself.—G. S. 


184 Fighting For Cuba 

fire almost at once, or rather the floating remains 
of her, and that despite the assistance afforded by 
ships at hand, including even Spanish vessels and 
the American City of Washington, out of a brave 
ship’s company of 350, only forty-eight escaped alive 
or uninjured. 

I cannot help admiring the coolness of Captain 
Sigsbee on this fearful occasion. His mind was 
neither influenced by excitement nor anger. 

His suspicions of foul play he kept to himself, and 
after leaving the wreck he ordered the launch that 
carried him to be laid alongside the Spanish Al- 
phonso XII., and going on board he saluted first the 
deck or flag, and then the captain and officers, who 
were together on the quarter-deck, for their kind¬ 
ness in assisting to save the lives of his unfortunate 
crew. 

Nor in the cablegram, which he forwarded soon 
after to the American president, did he impute a 
word of blame to the Dons. 

That ’gram was worded as coolly as if it had been 
the description of the most ordinary event, a thun¬ 
derstorm or slight shock of earthquake. It ran as 
follows: 

“ Maine blown up to-night in harbour here at nine- 
forty—Destroyed. Many wounded. Doubtless more 
killed or drowned. . . . Send tenders from Key 

West for few pieces of equipment still above water. 
None had clothing except what he wore. Suspend 
public opinion till further report. All officers be- 


A Dark Night's Work 185 

lieved to be saved. Many Spanish officers with me 
to express sympathy.” 

That was about all the information President 
McKinley received at three o’clock that morning. 
It may be presumed that he slept but little after 
that. 

But in the very last sentence of Sigsbee’s histor¬ 
ical “ wire ” is there not perceivable just the slight¬ 
est little bit of irony ? 

The sympathy was of about as much value and 
just as sincere as that cabled by the queen of Spain 
herself or that from the Spanish Parliament. 

But proofs were not wanting and had soon come 
to light that the awful disaster was due to the ex¬ 
plosion of a mine by Spanish hands. 

Is it any wonder then that one of the battle-cries 
of the brave Jackie Tars and marines, who manned 
yonder fleet now speeding through the ocean on 
her way to Havana would be: 


REMEMBER THE MAINE / 


CHAPTER III 


44 Heigho ! I shall dream about all this 
to-night " 

The same old middies, brimful of fun, 

As fought in the old-time wars, 

Quarter-deck officers just the same, 

The same brave Jackie Tars. 

But how changed are his ships and everything here! 


Although the people of the United States, 
people-like, had leapt at once to the fiery conclusion 
that the Dons had been virtually, even literally, at 
the bottom of the Maine business, and called aloud 
for retribution and vengeance, those in authority 
very rightly held a court of enquiry. This sat a 
long time, and most carefully considered the opin¬ 
ions of the divers who were sent below to investi¬ 
gate. These had done their duty in a most manly 
and thorough manner, and the verdict of the court, 
at last, was as follows: 

“The loss of the Maine was not, in any respect, 
due to fault or negligence on the part of any of the 
officers or men of the crew. The ship was destroyed 
by the explosion of a submarine mine, which caused 
186 


" I shall dream about all this to-night " 187 


the partial exploding of two or more of the forward 
magazines, etc., etc.” 

****** 

The war had commenced then, with the sailing 
of Sampson’s fleet from Key West. 

Who should win ? 

Surely it was a foregone conclusion that if there 
be a God of Battle at all, He would lean to that 
side which had entered upon the struggle with clean 
hands and hearts,—yet so reluctantly—rather than 
to that whose hands were red and reeking with the 
blood of innocent babes and women, and whose 
hearts were stained with murder vile. 

Such thoughts as these crossed Desmond’s mind 
as his ship went dashing through the waves. She 
left no ordinary wake behind her, nor did her con¬ 
sorts in the race. No wake that had any resem¬ 
blance to that of an old-fashioned man-o’-war, or 
later ironclad; but a broad, foaming, churned-up 
band of white, that turned not blue till the vessel 
left it miles ahead. And the water from the bows 
rose like two walls, higher and more curling than 
any breaker that ever thundered on a beach after a 
wild storm far out at sea. 

Desmond had been on board the New York for 
many weeks, and had already made friends with 
the officers, not only senior, but junior—his mess¬ 
mates—as well. 

The young fellow was so thoroughly enthusiastic, 


i88 


Fighting For Cuba 


and his clear, blue, fearless eyes told even the ad¬ 
miral that Dess was a hero at heart. 

The ships of navies, both British and American* 
are changed, it is true. Jackie Tar, however, as 1 
have already said, is just the same, and your mid¬ 
dies are not altered one little bit. Quite as fond of 
pranks, quite as fond of fun and skylarking as in 
the brave days of old. 

If you but heard them of a night singing ranting 
songs in their mess-room, and knocking on the tables 
to make the ranting, rattling choruses more effect¬ 
ive ; or chaffing each other in their glee, but out of 
20 bad feeling; or spinning impossible yarns; or 
pretending to get very tight on harmless mulled 
claret—a tightness which vanished 

“ . . . like the lofty golden clouds 

That float on the mountain brow ” 

the moment the watch was called you would under¬ 
stand the truth of what I say. 

Naturally enough Desmond came in for a good 
sprinkling of chaff. It didn’t go more than feather- 
deep, however, and Dess ranted and sang with the 
best of them, and told some wonderful stories also, 
which before he commenced he begged of the boys 
not to believe. 

“But tell us some of your wild adventures in 
Cuba,” said an ensign, one evening. 

Desmond’s face grew serious at once. 

“ No, Taylor, no,” he replied. “ I should be sorry 


44 1 shall dream about all this to-night " 189 


to sadden you. I’ll sing a song and I’ll spin a yarn 
that shall run Munchausen up a lane, but I’m not 
going to tell the truth.” 

Only just on one occasion had Desmond lost his 
temper in the mess. 

It was an evening shortly after he had joined 
and when the chaff was at its hottest. 

“Well, anyhow,” said a middy or ensign, “we 
won’t have you figuring off as an American. Yours 
is the green flag of old Ireland, Desmond.” 

“I love old Ireland,” said Desmond, calmly. 
“But my father is a naturalised subject of the 
United States, and I was born under the rippling 
shadow of the stars and stripes! ” 

As he spoke, he rose slowly from the table, shov¬ 
ing aside his plate of fruit. Then, just as calmly, 
ne took off his jacket and waistcoat. He folded 
both up and placed them on a chair with his cap 
on top. He ruffled his fingers through his hair to 
clear his brow. 

“ Why, what is the matter, Mr. Adeane ? ” said 
the young president of the mess, assuming a look 
of authority. 

“The matter with me, sir, is this: Ensign Beaver 
there has grossly insulted me. I shall trouble him 
to come outside for a few minutes. I want an in¬ 
terview -” 

Beaver turned pale, but he sprang up with hands 
elenched and looking determined. 

“ No, no, no,” cried several members of the mess. 


Fighting For Cuba 


190 

The president smiled. 

“I cannot,” he said, “allow the peace of this 
little community to, be disturbed. Mr. Beaver, sir, 
you have hurt Adeane’s feelings. Your language 
was really insulting. I do not command you, but 
I request you to make our friend an ample apology.” 

Beaver played with the orange pips on his plate 
for just a few seconds, then he laughed jollily. 

“ Ton my word,” he said, “ I’ve been most beastly 
rude, and I don’t doubt for a single moment that 
Adeane could give me the sound thrashing I really 
deserve. I ask his forgiveness! ” 

He advanced to the spot and he and Adeane 
heartily shook hands, and were friends forever 
after. 

“ America yet! ” cried one. 

“ Hurrah! for America. Hurrah! ” 

Then Yankee Doodle was sung by all hands, with 
much drumming with fists upon the table. So much 
patriotic commotion, indeed, was exhibited, that 
presently the master-at-arms appeared, “with the 
compliments of the officer of his watch to the 
young gentlemen and would they kindly make just 
a trifle less noise.” 

“ Most certainly,” replied the president, smiling. 
Present my compliments to the officer of the watch, 
and tell him that I shall at once give orders to the 
youngsters that will result in—in—a—in a reduc¬ 
tion of their jollity.” 

Bowing «nd laughing, Sangster retired. 


44 1 shall dream about all this to-night " 191 


The president, who was not much more than a 
boy himself, now turned smiling to his messmates 
and said, “That’s Jimmy Legs, you know, lads. 
Heard the droll poet Barnes’ last on the master-at- 
arms ? ” 

“ JVo. no. Let us hear it.” 

“Wen* 1 will, though I’m no great gun at recit¬ 
ing.” 


“ BRASS-BOUND ”» 

u Oh! Jimmy Legs, he walks the deck, 

Brass buttons down his coat, 

A buzzard and stripe he wears on his sleeve, 
He's the biggest man afloat; 

The lads who smuggle the stuff on board, 
They know when he’s around, 

And skylarkin’ drops and the fightin’ stops, 
Because he is brass-bound. 

*• Oh! Johnny Marine, he shoulders arms, 

And he won’t get out of your way, 

And he wears white gloves at the cabin-door, 
And thinks he’s the deuce-to-pay; 

He may talk back to Turret Jack, 

But, he’s as meek ever you found, 

If you come along with a stripe and a bird. 
And happen to be brass-bound. 

« And it’s oh! and I'm goin’ to be brass-bound 
Before I leaves the ship; 

I’m goin’ to sport a bird of my own, 

And I won’t take nobody’s tip. 


1 1, Gordon Stables, of the British Royal Navy, do confess, without 
a blush, that I prigged this song from the American press. 



ig 2 


Fighting For Cuba 

I ain’t ashamed of a shirt 

(And I wears a ratin’ mark), 

But I makes up my mind as a ’prentice boy 
(When walkin’ in Central Park), 

I was goin’ to be brass-bound 
Afore I left the sea; 

And a buzzard and stripe 
And a bo’sain’s pipe, 

Are waitin’ somewheres for me.” 

“ Bravo, Barnes! and bravo, you, sir! Mr. Presi¬ 
dent, your health and song! ” 

“ And now,” said this officer, “ I call upon Mr. 
Adeane for a song. Not too loud, and with no 
chorus, for orders must be obeyed, and discipline 
must be maintained as suggested to us by the offi¬ 
cer of the watch , per Jimmy Legs.” 

“I’m on the boards,” said Desmond. “But, 
gentlemen, have any of you got a sweetheart ? ” 

A loud laugh. 

“I have one” said the president, modestly. 

“And I have three” cried a middy who shaved. 

“ Fiddlesticks, man,” cried another, “ I have one 
wherever I go. Fall ‘ regularly in love at every 
ball,’ and keep true to my love as the needle to the 
pole, till-” 

“ Till the next ball. Eh, Dumpling ? ” 

“ That’s about it,” admitted Dumpling. 

“Well,” said Desmond, “I’m content with just 
one little one. It is like this. In a scrimmage 
with the Dons, worse than football—Scotch rules, 
I got rolled over with a Mauser. I was taken in 



44 I shall dream about all this to-night " 19^ 


charge by a dear, sweet old lady who lived in a 
lovely hacienda hidden away among the hills. Her 
daughter was a good fairy—nothing else, gentle¬ 
men. O, the dear, tender-hearted girl, how I do 
love her! Think me silly and sentimental, eh ?” 

“ No, no, heave round! ” 

“Well, some day I’m going to marry her. But 
I’ll sing you the song I sang to her the evening 
before I left to join again our cavalry and help to 
relieve my father’s fort. 

“ It’s a Scotch song, but you won’t mind. It is 
so sweet! ” 

“ And I’ll accompany you on the flute,” said a 
young fellow. 

“ Good ! ” 

And Desmond sang as follows: 

THE PAIRTIN’ 1 (Parting.) 

Verse I.— 

“ Mary, dearest maid, I leave thee, 

Hame, an’ frien’s, an’ country dear; 

Oh ! ne’er let our pantin' grieve thee, 

Happier days may soon be here. 

1 This truly charming song is to be found in a collection of the bes*- 
songs of Scotland—“ The Lyric Gems ”—so few of which are known 
in England, and beneath it the following words, the truth of which I 
so often experience: 

« Cheerfulness—and Song. —If you would keep spring in your 
hearts, learn to sing. There is more merit in melody than most people 
are aware of. A cobbler who smoothes his wax-ends with a song, will 
do as much work in a day, as one given to ill-nature would do in a 
week. Songs are like sunshine, they run to cheerfulness to fill the 
bosom with such buoyancy that, for the time being, you feel filled with 
June air, or like a meadow of clover in blossom.” 



•94 


Fighting For Cuba 

See yon bark sae proudly bounding, 
Soon shall bear me o’er the sea; 
Hark! the trumpet loudly sounding, 
Calls me far frae love an’ thee. 


Verse II.— 

“ Summer flowers shall cease to blossom, 

Streams run backward fae the sea; 

Cauld in death maun be this bosom, 

Ere it cease to throb for thee. 

Fare thee weel—may ev’ry blessin’ 

Shed by Heav’n around the fa’; 

Ae last time thy lov’d form pressin’— 

Think o’ me when far awa’.” 

****** 

Yes, on the whole, the gun-room mess, as it is 
called still on many Britishers, was a very happy 
one. 

But, at first, everything on board from keel to 
tops was strange and new to our young hero. 
Many an old-fashioned ship of both Britain and 
America had he boarded, and for months after 
joining the New York he harped back upon these 
in his own mind. There was more romance about 
them, he told his messmates. 

And I, myself, feel for the lad. I am nothing 
earthly, if not a sailor. If not a sailor I want 
just to “ lay me doon and dee,” as the lover was 
willing to do for bonnie Annie Laurie. 

I am not going to call our brave armoured cruisers 
mere “ tin kettles,” nor designate her officers and 
men as engineers and greasers, nor her stokers and 


" I shall dream about all this to-night " 195 


fellows who work below in the breathless air as 
the “ Black Gang,” still, as to romance, and there 
must be a little of that in ships and sailors, they 
are no more to be compared to a vessel under sail— 
maybe with stun-sails set alow and aloft—than a 
railway coal tender can be to a well-tooled coach 
and four. 

But Desmond was literally taken aback, like a 
brig in a squall, at the wonders he saw here, all 
around him. 

“ Oh! ” he cried to one of the older “ men ” of his 
mess, “ I shall never learn to work a craft of this 
kind. I’m dazed—I’m puzzled,—I don’t feel per¬ 
fectly sure that I’m not standing on my head.” 

His messmate laughed. 

“ I was the same, once,” he said. “ For you see, 
here, everything is worked by machinery, electrical 
or steam.” 

“Well,” said poor Dess, “I don’t see. But just 
fire away, all the same. I never could understand 
Browning nor Wagner, and this is Browning, Wag¬ 
ner and Chaucer all rolled into one and about as 
much mixed up as the barbed wires in a Spanish 
trocha.” 

“ Well,” said the middy, whose name was Gray, 
“ I suppose you know more about trochas than I 
do. Until I came to Key West I always thought 
a trocha was a kind of cough drop. Then I looked 
up an old Spanish dictionary and found that trocha 
was a narrow pathway.” 


Fighting For Cuba 


196 

Desmond laughed. 

“ Why,” he said, “ you wouldn’t find it an easy 
one to walk along. Charlie Chat, our bulldog, got 
mixed up in one once, and he might just as well 
have been in a spider’s web. His skin was torn 
in all directions with his struggle to get free, 
and it took me half an hour to get the dear old 
fellow clear. I did so just as Spanish bullets began 
to sing and ping around us. I mounted my steed 
with Charlie in front, and didn’t we fly, just! 
Young Lochinvar, who came out of the west, you 
know, wouldn’t have been in it with us. But, 
heave round, Gray, with your interesting descrip¬ 
tion.” 

Then Gray took him all over the ship, and down 
below too, into the compartments where brave 
men fight or faint and bleed and die. He showed 
him how the touching of a button could bring in 
the cable, and how the bells spoke to engineers and 
officers. Then into the darksome engine-rooms, 
where stokers often died of heat apoplexy. Showed 
him the turrets and how simply but easily they 
could be trained, spoke of Jackie in the turret, and 
Jack behind the terrible swift firing guns, with 
which they were going to riddle the Dons’ vessels as 
soon as ever they had a chance; he talked of spon- 
sons, barbettes, tops, from which rifles and revol¬ 
vers should ring, and the Conning Tower itself. 
(That is right, Mr. Compositor, give Conning Tower 
capital letters, for 


44 1 shall dream about all this to-night " 197 


“ The Conning Tower is the one-man power 
And the soul of the ship holds sway 
And the turrets turn and guns are trained 
In the newest kind of way.”) 

“You know a little bit now, don’t you?” said 
Gray. 

“ O yes, an awful lot. As much as I know of 
Greek and quadratic equations. It seems to me 
the soul of the ship has just to sit in that little 
heaven up yonder, touch a button now and then 
and let the cruiser herself do all the rest. Seems 
very simple, but only-” 

“ Only what, mon ami f ” 

“ Only I should be always touching the wrong 
button.” 

“ Heigho ! ” he added. “ I shall dream about all 
this to-night.” 

Probably he did, but now, as the New York 
speeds onward and on, through the sea so blue, 
Desmond is quite as well up to the workings of a 
great floating fighting machine as any young offi¬ 
cer on board. 



CHAPTER IV 

" Dogs that bark but cannot bite " 

“ With guns, and ships, and men of steel 
I fear not war with foes like these. 

So westward steams my gallant fleet, 

To sweep the Yankees from the seas.” 

— Cervera's Soliloquy. 

I don’t think that boys have altered very essen 
tially since I, myself, was a nipper, and that is 
seven or eight years ago. Perhaps a little more, 
for time does fly—because it has nothing else to do, 
I suppose. But, anyhow, when a new boy came to 
our school he was speedily interviewed. A lad of 
his own size was deputed to do this work, and the 
questions put to him ran somewhat as follows : 

“ What’s the first o’ your name ? ” 

“ What does your father do ? ” 

“ Have you anything to trock ? ” (barter.) 

“ Can ye fecht (fight) ? I’ll fecht ye, for fun.” 

Then jackets were thrown aside and at it the two 
would go pell-mell, and so the newcomer took his 
place in the school according to his fighting 
standard. 

But curiously enough the boys with whom I 
198 


44 Dogs that bark but cannot bite " 199 


fought most viciously, were those who afterward 
became my very dearest friends and some are so 
even till this day. 

Well it was the same with Desmond and Beaver. 
They had not actually fought, but relations had 
been severely strained and hence they had come to 
respect each other. So they were very often to¬ 
gether both on shore and afloat. 

Sam Beaver was an American—true blue, one 
might say—for his family dated back to the brave 
days when the British yoke was thrown off, if not 
before. 

I must confess that there is one virtue about the 
Yankees, which even in the great Northern and 
Southern war, in the early sixties, though then 
very young, I used to admire—probably because I 
did not find it among the British, whether English 
or Scotch. When the Confederates or Federals were 
beaten they “ owned up ” and confessed frankly 
that they had had the worst of it. 

This is downright manly ! 

But O ! dear me, you shall never meet a man or 
woman in English society whose ancestors did not 
come over with the conqueror, and going farther 
back in history I have been told by a South Briton, 
that our Bannockburn was an exaggeration as de¬ 
scribed by the Scotch. That in fact the Scotch 
made the most of it. 

“ My ! won’t the Dons be daft! ” said a Scotch 
engineer-assistant, as the great war-ships went tear- 


200 Fighting For Cuba 

ing through the blue water, “ when we blockade 
Havana.” 

He was right, they were. 

But, dear me! the Americans were only going to 
be permitted to stay there a limited time. The 
Spaniards, so the poor rank and file believed, were 
going to pitch them all into the sea, except some 
prisoners, whom they meant to bring on shore to 
have some fun with at a bonfire. But some of the 
Yanks would find their way inside that bonfire, an& 
that would make the fun all the funnier, you know. 

However, they had to catch them first. 

That was the worst of it. 

Ah! many a splendid basin of hare-soup has 
been spoiled, just for want of one little item—the 
hare itself. 

General Blanco was what some youths would 
call “ a frightful swell,” in his own estimation 
that is, and his bombastic speech to the people 
of Havana, was wonderful in its way. He was go¬ 
ing to do all sorts of great things as soon as the 
enemy neared the city and the ports of Morro. He 
swore he would, and the people also used swear¬ 
words, at his request. Support him ? Rather. 
They would stand at his back till he was like a rid¬ 
dle ! Especially the Cubans, whom Spain had done 
so much to civilise! 

When Morro was about to begin the fun by open¬ 
ing fire on the Hew York, a Spanish gunner said to 
his mate, “You see that Yankee Cruiser?” 


44 Dogs that bark but cannot bite” 201 


44 For certain! ” 

“ Then take your last look at her—I’m going ta 
fire.” But his shots all fell short or went down be¬ 
low somewhere to scare the sharks. 

“ Aren’t we going to reply ? ” said Dess. 

“ No,” said Sam Beaver, laughing. “ No good 
answering a dog that barks but cannot bite.” 

44 I haven’t got my range quite yet,” said the 
Spanish gunner. 44 But anyhow I have given them 
a terrible fright and they dare not shoot back ! ” 

But the New York, much to the joy of its crew, 
had some rare excitement. Nothing pleases Jackie 
better than a chase. It is a boat-race on a big 
scale and he is willing to bet all his outtons on it. 
Besides, there is the prospect of prize money. 

And not one but many fat prizes were taken. 
Soon after this Jackie cheered and Desmond and 
Beaver said, 44 Hooray! ” in a lower key. 

But one splendid prize the New York missed. 
She was the Montserret, with about $1,000,000 in 
specie, twenty guns, and l,^o0 soldiers, or men who 
passed as soldiers. 

Well, the blockading squadron of Admiral Samp¬ 
son was brought into action after five days of mas¬ 
terful inactivity. For tne Dons were swarming 
around their forts and adding every hour to their 
strength. He determined therefore to edge along 
the coast and test his artillery. Desmond was 
delightfully excited and so was honest Beaver 
when the signal for gencraj quarters was passed from 


202 Fighting For Cuba 

the bridge,—the bugle sounded out its heart-inspir¬ 
ing call. 

In our British navy I have known our brave fel¬ 
lows be at their quarters (night) three minutes after 
the bugle sounded, or drum went trr—r—r—r! 
The men actually turned their hammocks in their 
hurry and you might have met some of them 
tearing along the lower deck and dressing as they 
ran. 

Well I have no doubt the Americans are quite as 
active. 

Punta Gorda was the sound battery or earth¬ 
work the Dons were busiest at, and I am told that 
when the order was given a man called Waist on 
the New York was the first to awaken the echoes, 
with a shot from an eight-inch gun. Good name, 
because he was in what in olden times would have 
been called the waist of the ship. 

But shot after shot now went roaring through 
the air and finally a broadside—from port. 

It was getting very hot on shore, and the Span¬ 
ish officer, not knowing what to do, scratched his 
head—Dons often do that. 

A happy thought! The Dons would —go to 
dinner. But another fort took up the firing. 
Sampson opened fire on this next. In five minutes’ 
time, the Dons there also thought that dinner would 
be the best thing for them. 

The New York now returned to assist the Cincin¬ 
nati in demolishing the earthworks, and this little 


44 Dogs that bark but cannot bite " 203 

business was completed in a remarkably short 
time. 

The telegrams of the Spanish general command¬ 
ing—Blanco himself I believe—to his queen were 
heroic. The newspapers in Madrid made great fun 
over the bombardment. If this was all, some of 
them said, that Los Americanos could do, they 
ought to have been kept at home so that their 
men might have the advantage of a little training 
in a school of gunnery. 

Such headings as the following might also have 
been seen in the Spanish papers. 

Terrible Bombardment of Punta Gobda 
by the Yanks. 

Appalling Loss of Life on Shore. 

One Mule Killed !! 

This was the standing joke in Spain for many 
weeks. It needs but little to make fun for fools. 
The facts remained however. The forts were si¬ 
lenced and deserted, so Sampson left the Puritan 
and Cincinnati to keep an eagle eye on them while 
he returned to Havana. 

****** 

We have to note now that a very large and 
powerful fleet sailed from Spain, under the com¬ 
mand of Admiral Cervera. He was going to sweep 
the Yankees from the seas. I am not told that this 


Fighting For Cuba 


204 

officer hoisted a broom at the mast-head, as did the 
old Dutch admiral when he proposed sweeping the 
English from off the face of the ocean. 

Cervera meant business all the same. So he said, 
and this is probably why, instead of dashing right 
across the ocean, and engaging Sampson, he sailed 
to that Portuguese colony—the Cape de Yerde 
Islands. 

But the Portuguese were neutral and the Spanish 
admiral was informed that he must leave. 

He did so reluctantly—just like a schoolboy 
getting out of bed on a winter’s morning—and 
sailed away, on April 29th. 

But whither went he ? 

Well, that was the puzzle. 

He did the remarkable disappearance dodge. 

However, there was no saying where he might 
not pop up again all of a sudden, like a “ Jack-in- 
the-box,” and frighten women and children. Com¬ 
modore Scott Schley’s Flying Squadron was ordered 
to keep a good lookout for him all along the east¬ 
ern shores of America and elsewhere. He had 
under him the great battle-ships Texas and Massa¬ 
chusetts, his own flagship, the cruiser Brooklyn, and 
two other armed cruisers. 

He had to assist him in this patrol duty, Admiral 
Howell, with his Dixie, Yankee, Prairie and Yo- 
Semite. 

And these, reader, were armed and subsidised 
passenger ships. I need hardly add that in the 


44 Dogs that bark but cannot bite " 205 


event of our going to war, a very large number of 
our biggest and best ships of the mercantile marine 
would soon be turned over to our government. 

Cervera’s fleet, it may be as well to mention at 
once, was really a very strong one, consisting of 
such first-class cruisers as the Infanta Maria Teresa, 
the Almirante, the Cristobal Colon and the Yis- 
5aya, with a lot of torpedo boat destroyers. 

The Yiscaya, by the way, had been sent to Hew 
York when the unfortunate Maine went to Havana. 
The Yankees did not blow her up, however. On 
the contrary, the officers and men had been treated 
with the very greatest hospitality and courtesy. 

****** 

Admiral Sampson continued his gunnery practice. 
Indeed, he did quite a deal of demolishment on the 
north coast of Cuba, and I dare say he killed an¬ 
other mule or two, and doubtless wounded a good 
many donkeys. 

One word here about two ships of the American 
navy, concerning which much uneasiness was felt. 
One was the Paris—a converted liner—that was 
reported to have been seized by the Dons in the 
English Channel. She came up smiling, however, 
in good time. 

The other was the Oregon, who, when the war 
broke out, was far away in southern waters, and 
had to make a voyage along the coast of many thou¬ 
sands of miles. She was an immense man-o’-war, 


206 


Fighting For Cuba 


and could have licked the whole of Cervera’s fleet 
—one down t’other come on. 

The United States war authorities were so far 
happy, then, when they heard of her safe arrival at 
Rio. But the Spanish admiral would likewise hear 
of this. What more likely than that he should head 
her off and cut her out ? 

He ought to have done so. With the experience 
he had stored up under that well-domed and hand¬ 
some head of his, I am astonished he did not. The 
first good blow in a fight is always the best, and 
the Oregon would have made a splendid addition to 
the Spanish navy. 

“ He who fights and runs away, 

Will live to fight another day.” 

Well, the Oregon did not really run away, but 
she got there all the same, and she did live to fight 
another day. 

And that day was indeed a bloody one, as, before 
my story is ended, we shall find out. 

****** 

On board the flagship of Admiral Schley, of the 
Flying Squadron, our friend and hero, Ted McCoy, 
soon showed his good qualities, and became a gen¬ 
eral favourite, not only among his own messmates, 
but with the officers as well. In his mess he could 
spin good stories and sing rattling good songs. 
Moreover, he was a bit of a poet of the skittish de¬ 
nomination of the rhyming brotherhood. There 


“Dogs that bark but cannot bite” 207 


was really nothing in his verses except that they 
rippled over with droll expressions, satire and sar¬ 
casm that made the reader laugh. 

The officers got hold of some of these, and even 
Schley himself. The admiral called Ted on the 
quarter-deck one day and questioned him as to his 
former life, and when Teddy briefly told him all, he 
expressed some astonishment that he had not ac¬ 
cepted Adeane’s good offer and gone into the scrib¬ 
bling department. 

“ By your leave, sir,” said Ted, “ I’d rather scrib¬ 
ble to my sweetheart and write silly verses for my 
messmates. 

“ Besides,” he added, “ it is real fighting I want 
to see, sir, and it isn’t much of that I’d be having 
with a pen behind my ear.” 

“ You would like to be under fire ? ” said Admiral 
Schley, slyly. 

“ Indeed, then, and I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Well, my boy, you shall have your wish, and 
when we have a real engagement with the Dons, 
I’ll have you up alongside me to take notes. Now 
you may go. I may just tell you that I think you 
a brave Irish lad! ” 

Ted coloured with joy at these kindly words. 
Then he saluted and retired. 

****** 

Let us close this chapter by taking a peep on 
board the dear old Bonito. 

All hands there, including Charlie Chat and 


208 


Fighting For Cuba 

Cheese, found it insufferably dull now that the 
fleet had gone. But Adeane was never the man to 
do things by halves, and he determined to offer his 
services as a dispatch boat to one or other of the 
fleets, or to both. 

“You are a whole-hearted man, sir,” said Samp¬ 
son, when Captain Adeane ran over and reported 
himself on board the New York; “ I shall gladly 
take you as a supernumerary, and will ask you to¬ 
day to take a letter for me to Tampa, where you 
will find some stir going on.” 

Tampa is a town in Florida and, being not far 
from Cuba, was considered a handy place at which 
to concentrate troops that, ere long, were destined to 
make a descent upon the Cuban coast. 

These did sail at last, but, alas! they seemed to 
be but badly organised for fighting, and neither 
their commissariat nor ammunition and rifle depart¬ 
ments were in first-class order. No such muddle 
had been made, however, as that which signalised 
our own first attempts at the invasion of the Crimea. 

I do not think that, when on the war-path, troops 
should be overfed, because we don’t want bloated 
soldiers, for a hungry soldier, unless he be a Scot¬ 
tish Highlander, is a heartless fighter. It is Burns 
who says: 


“ But tak’ a Scotchman frae the hill, 
Clap in his mon’ a whisky gill, 

He has nae thocht but how to kill 

Twa at a time.” 


44 Dogs that bark but cannot bite” 209 


But as to the army at Tampa they did show the 
stuff they were made of when they got the chance. 
Only this was a little later on. 

Ted McCoy was permitted to visit his dear 
friends on the Bonito, on a fortnight’s furlough. 

He felt a trifle shy at first, being in blue-jacket 
rig, thinking that perhaps Aileen would not like her 
brother dressed thus. 

He put on his best clothes, however, and he had 
already been rated. For believe me, my boy-read¬ 
ers, that in no civilised navy or army does honesty, 
aptitude, good conduct and pluck go unrecognised. 


CHAPTER V 


Life on The Bold Bonito—The Nigger Boys — 
A Race For Dear Life 

“ Now blow, good wind, and waft us on. 

There’s danger on the sea, 

While darkness falling, deep intense, 

To-night our friend shall be.” 

Teddy’s welcome on board the Bonito was really 
a right hearty one. No one had seen him for quite 
a long time—or what Aileen called a long, long 
time. She said, right sincerely too, that she liked 
him better brown and bare-necked, than if he had 
on a linen collar and blue coat. 

Mrs. Adeane made him join the saloon mess of 
course, and everyone was delighted at the droll 
yarns he had to spin concerning life in the Flying 
Squadron. 

When he came first on board, Charlie Chat 
simply let himself spread, and as that spreading 
was over all the decks, fore and aft, it quite took 
away his breath so that, when he returned to bark 
joyfully at Ted, the sounds were very hoarse and 
wheezy indeed. 

Cheese was less demonstrative but equally affec¬ 
tionate, singing loudly as he walked round and 

210 


211 


Life on The Bold Bonito 

round the boy, fore and aft and on both beams, 
rubbing his shoulders on his baggy trowsers. 

He finished off by leaping on his shoulder, and 
Ted marched down below with pussy seated just 
where he was. 

There was one person he missed and that was the 
bonnie blue eyed lassie Fatima, who had promised 
to become the wife of poor Hodson. 

I want as little real grief as possible in the stories 
I write, but I must mention Fatima. The shock to 
her nerves had been terrible, but Mrs. Adeane 
thought that the fresh sea-air and kindness would 
strengthen her, and that forgetfulness would come, 
or at least contentment with her lot. 

She had never really smiled since Hodson’s death, 
and was often found in tears. 

One bright moonlight night, about the end of the 
first watch, (from eight P. M. till twelve midnight) 
the men having but little to do, were congregated 
about the forecastle, talking and smoking, when sud¬ 
denly a figure in white was seen standing, ghost-like 
and uncertain, close beside the cabin companion. 

The figure, after a moment or two, glided rapidly 
toward the lee bulwarks then sprang thereon. The 
Bonito was under easy sail on a leading wind. Sud¬ 
denly Fatima,—for it was she—who had paused as 
if to look her last on the ship, swayed forward and 
disappeared. 

She was never seen again, though a boat was 
quickly lowered and the crew searched about for 


212 Fighting For Cuba 

fully half-an-hour. But Fatima had left a little 
note to Mrs. Adeane : 

“ Adieu! adieu! ” it ran. “ I would fain stay, I 
would fain be with you, but he is calling, calling, 
and where he is I must be also.” 

It is evident enough that the poor girl had been 
bereft of her reason. But that was the end of a 
Cuban story of true love, believe it who may. 

Away went the Bonito then for Tampa Bay, and 
Ted told Aileen more than once that it was just 
like the dear old times begun again. 

They were but seldom apart, these two, whether 
below or on deck, and the dog and cat followed 
them like their shadows. 

The priest and doctor were both in fine form and 
more than once the latter had asked Captain 
Adeane to lend him to the American Navy for a 
time to “ help whip the Spaniards.” 

“ Later on, Dr. Kamsay, later on. I hardly know 
what I should do without you.” 

The Bonito steamed to Tampa with all speed, but 
on her return voyage, having nothing particular to 
do, the millionaire determined to sail, and to take a 
turn round to Pinos to make sure the chalet was 
still standing. 

Nothing could have pleased anyone on board 
better. The weather was certainly hot, but the sea 
was darkly blue and just rippled or little more, 
with a seven-knot breeze, which was very refresh¬ 
ing to those who lounged beneath the awning. 


Life on The Bold Bonito 213 

I do not think anyone was sorry to be out of 
Cuba. In the days of peace the life at the beauti¬ 
ful hacienda was all one long, pleasant dream, but 
when wild war came—ah! how different! and they 
could only look back to scenes they had then come 
through, as one recalls the memory of some fearful 
nightmare. 

Captain Adeane was seldom what one might have 
called unhappy, yet there were times when he had 
his periods of depression. Was he afraid of being 
reduced to penury ? Perhaps, yet he knew that the 
present moment he could not have faithfully de¬ 
scribed himself as a millionaire, for many of his 
American securities were now hardly worth the 
paper on which they had been printed. His Cuban 
estate was for the time being, at all events, value¬ 
less. Machinery, mills and stores had been de¬ 
stroyed ; his hacienda’s ruined walls had tottered 
and fallen before a hurricane-wind, shortly after he 
had left, and the plantation fires had completely 
exterminated his crops of tobacco, sugar, etc. 

“ It will come right in time,” good Father Mc- 
Downey had told him, consolingly. “ Just wait and 
hope and trust.” 

“Well, but my Philippine scheme!” he laughed, 
somewhat bitterly. “ Don’t you think, my friend, I 
was a bit too hasty over that ? ” 

“ Wait and trust! ” said McDowney again. “ Phil¬ 
ippines won’t pay for a bit. I’m no business man 
myself, but I’d hold on to everything.” 


214 Fighting For Cuba 

“ Yes, true; but I’ve made up my mind about one 
thing, father.” 

“ And what is that, sure ? ” 

“ It is this: Many poor people bought shares in 
my Philippine company and may be living now to 
repent it. McDowney, they shall not lose, and if 
things come to the worst and America be beaten in 
this war-” 

“ Impossible, captain, impossible! Sure, it is the 
liver of you that is wrong entirely, and Ramsay 
must see to it quickly.” 

Adeane laughed. “ I dare say,” he said, “ my 
liver isn’t in such good form as it used to be when 
I was a young man. But you won’t let me tell you 
what I mean to do.” 

“Well? I’m waiting.” 

“ If I sink then, not a soul shall be dragged down 
in the same vortex that swallows me up. Every 
shareholder, poor or wealthy, shall be paid in full, 
even if I have to go back to old Ireland and live in 
a little cottage on the green braes of wild Conne¬ 
mara.” 

Father McDowney held out his hand and shook 
that of his friend right heartily. 

“ Bless you,” he said, “ for these same words. I 
always knew you were a man and a gentleman, and 
I know now you are a Christian, and that is better 
than all. Honour and a good name give a clear 
conscience, Adeane, which alone can lead to happi¬ 
ness here and hereafter. 


21 5 


Life on The Bold Bonito 

“ Bedad! ” he added, comically, a moment after, 
u if you go to settle in Galway wilds, it’s myself 
that’ll settle there beside you, and I’ll play the fid¬ 
dle all the week to cheer you and preach a bit to 
the poor folks on Sunday.” 

The Bonito encountered a heavy gale when still 
a long way off Pinos. 

This drove him far south, as it raged for days. 
He could not have steamed against it, so he pre¬ 
ferred to lie to. 

****** 

On board the Bonito were two very interesting 
personages, neither of whom considered himself 
small deer, though they quarreled with each other 
and seemed determined to keep it up “ to the bitter 
end.” 

These were Dickie Straw’s very words as he 
pointed in haughty scorn toward Snowflake, who 
was standing amidships: 

“ Dat leetle black niggah,” he told the boatswain, 
“ aboose me, and call me darkie and good-foh-nuffin 
trash ! What foh he do so ? Tell me dat. I’se one 
officer man. He on’y jes’ de cat’s niggah boy. I 
fight he to de bittah end. P’haps I chop he head 
off and frow it to de bulldog. What he do den, I 
wondah ? Yah! ” 

“ Look ye,” said the boatswain. “ If I catch any¬ 
one av the lot av ye talkin’ about bitter ends again, 
it’s the bitter end av a rope he’ll have on his riggin’. 


2 l6 


Fighting For Cuba 

Moind that same. Oi’m a man av me word, and so 
was my mother before me.” 

But even now those two little black ragamuffins 
showed no signs of being conquered. 

Quite the reverse in fact. 

“ Dat—dat leetle darkie use words like dat to a 
colour’d gem’lum! What next ? yah ! I show he 
’ow to respect de quatahde’k.” 

He made a rush for Dickie Straw of so deter¬ 
mined a character that the boatswain, who was 
short, fair and forty, was rolled right away into the 
lee scuppers. 

Then Dick Straw seized Snowflake by the poll 
and Snowflake seized Dick in the same way. Well, 
they had still one hand each to spare and you may 
easily guess these weren’t idle. The historical fight 
between the Kilkenney cats, in which after the battle 
only a little bit of fluff was picked up, was nothing 
to this. Charlie Chat came bounding aft, but for 
the life of him he couldn’t make up his canine mind 
which to side with, for the nigger lads were both 
kind to him. 

The boatswain, after picking himself up, picked 
up a bit of rope and went for the two of them. 

“ Ho ye don’t,” cried Charlie Chat, or something 
to that effect. “I won’t have you touch them. 
Wurr—gurr—rr—r! ” 

As there was no reasoning with a well-bred bull¬ 
dog in this frame of mind, the boatswain and the 
crew, who had come rushing on deck, simply stood 


Life on The Bold Bonito 217 

looking on, till the lads, breathless and bleeding, 
were fain to get out of grips. 

“ Ha! ha! ” said Snowflake. “ I tole ye I’d gib 
you Spain! ” 

“ Pooh! ” cried Dick. “ I gib you Amelican 
propah.” 

Both were sent aloft after the mate came on 
deck, one into the foretop, the other into the 
main, and ordered to stop there all day. If they 
dared to talk they would be brought down and 
keel-hauled. 

The mate certainly did not mean what he said. 
Keel-hauling was a terrible punishment, sometimes 
inflicted by a merchant skipper on an incorrigible, 
in the good old days of Dibdin the poet. A rope 
with two very long ends was passed around the 
culprit’s waist and under the bowsprit. While two 
sailors held the ropes, the man was dropped under 
the keel and actually drawn up under it from the 
weather side to the lee. If the ship’s bottom was 
covered with barnacles, the poor wretch was brought 
on board half drowned and with terrible wounds 
on face and body, from which he might or might not 
die. 

The boys didn’t speak, but made signs of venge¬ 
ance which were comical in the extreme. 

Well, now, I am just going to tell the reader 
straight away how all this ended. 

I never believed, mind, that they really had any 
ill-will against each other at heart, but nevertheless 


220 


Fighting For Cuba 


especially if one of the belligerents be unscrupulous 
in character. So Adeane had a good lookout kept, 
and one of the best young sailors in the ship was 
stationed high up in the main-top-gallant cross trees, 
whence he could sweep the sea with a good glass in 
all directions. 

“ On deck there,” he bawled, one forenoon. 

The Bonito was then well to the northward of 
Sagua la Grande. 

“ Ay, ay,” shouted the mate, “ but if you have 
anything to report come down.” 

The brave Jack did. 

“ It is a long, low, black steamer, sir, just hove 
over the east-southeast horizon. She is smoking 
like the mischief, sir, beggin’ yer pardon.” 

“ Bad coal, eh ? ” 

“ That’s it, sir.” 

“ Then she’s a Spaniard. Up you go again, and 
watch her motions. I shall alter our course several 
points, to try her.” 

This was done as soon as the outlook got once 
more seated, and very quickly after this another 
hail came deckward. 

“ She has altered her course, too, sir, and is crack¬ 
ing on after us.” 

The mate immediately reported to the captain, 
and orders were given to get up fires with all speed. 

As ill-luck would have it, the wind now chopped 
round, becoming more westerly, but much lighter. 

Before the fires could be lit and steam got up, the 


221 


Life on The Bold Bonito 

mysterious vessel was visible from deck, and Father 
McDowney, with his field-glasses, could see that she 
was flying the beautiful flag of Spain. 

What was to be done ? Fighting was out of the 
question, and to get into the hands of that gunboat 
meant the greatest misfortune that could befall the 
Bonito and her crew. The yacht herself would be 
confiscated, and Adeane and his family kept in 
loathsome dungeons until the war was over. 

As far as rifles went, and one good quick-firing 
gun, Adeane was in a position to give battle, but 
this could only end in dire disaster, with murder to 
follow their capture. Never before in all his life 
had Adeane felt so much anxiety, but he was a 
brave man, and so took care not to show it. 

“ Thank God ! ” he said, sotto voce , when the 
screws began to revolve. Then aloud : 

“ Go ahead at full speed! ” 

Sail was taken in, and it was soon evident that 
the engineers and stokers were doing their level 
best. A stern chase is a long chase. 

And all that day the Bonito cracked on. Though 
the enemy did not come up hand over hand, it was 
feared she might overhaul our friends before night¬ 
fall. 

The engineer came aft. 

“ A’ think,” he said, “ a’ could get anither knot 
out of her by thro win’ a drop o’ oil into the fire, or 
shovin’ a lump or two o’ pork aneath the boilers. 
Hav’ I your leave, sir ? ” 


222 


Fighting For Cuba 


“ My dear fellow, do as you like, but, for good¬ 
ness’ sake, do so quickly.” 

The increase of speed was soon apparent. 

The gunboat was now but little more than two 
miles astern. 

A puff of white smoke from her fore-tower! A 
puff of smoke with a centre tongue of fire. But 
the shell only tore up the water far in the Bonito’s 
wake. 

Every one, including Aileen, was now on deck, 
and the excitement was very great. 

It was a race for dear life they were engaged in, 
and all knew it. 

“And,” said Father McDowney, “they have 
dared to fire on the British flag.” 

“They don’t care, my dear McDowney. We’re 
far away at sea, you know, and I never met a 
Spanish captain yet who had a conscience.” 

Slowly set the sun. Shot after shot came whiz¬ 
zing past or over the yacht, but none struck. 

The sun’s lower limb had touched the horizon 
and a broad triangle of blood-red light, its apex 
pointing toward the ship, came from the west. 

A shell burst over the Bonito. But its splinters 
did no damage. 

Then fell darkness, deep, intense, a rising wind, 
heavy clouds and a choppy sea. 

“ Bank fires and set sail! But no noise, men.” 

Then the course was altered, and as never a light 
was lit anywhere except in the saloon, the yacht 


223 


Life on The Bold Bonito 

stole over the water ghost-like and almost invisible. 
Even the ports were blinded and closed and a tar¬ 
paulin thrown over the skylight. 

They were safe for the night, but what might 
not the dawn of day reveal ? 


CHAPTER VI 


The Battle at Manila—Admiral Dewey's 
Boyhood 

“ In battle form, the fleet now ranged, 

Lies silent on the sea; 

’Tis that the men to heaven may cry, 

And pray for victor^.” 1 — 

What daylight did reveal was this: a sky b& 
blue and ethereal as ever artist conveyed to canvas, 
a sea of azure without a ruffle, tiny green islets 
that seemed to hang in the sky with, beneath each, 
a line of snow-white where the heaving sea broke 
lazily on a coral beach, but never a sail in sight, far 
or near. 

And steam was up again once more and the 
Bonito making good her way westward, to the de¬ 
light of all, especially of Aileen and her pets. 

Seldom perhaps were hearts lifted more thank¬ 
fully heavenward than were those to-day, at morn¬ 
ing prayers in the saloon. 

But in forty hours more the Bonito was safely 
under the wings of the gunboats and torpedo boats 
of the great North Atlantic squadron, and in a few 

1 The most solemn time at sea, is the three minutes allowed for 
prayer before a fleet engages.—G. S. 

224 


The Battle at Manila 


225 

days after, Ted, much to Aileen’s sorrow, was trans¬ 
ferred to his own ship in Schley’s squadron. 

But where could Cervera be with the splendid 
fleet of bold, chivalrous Spain. 

Nobody could answer that. Merchant-ships 
averred that they had seen the fleet far to the north 
and evidently about to make a descent on New York. 

The skipper of a Yankee schooner, on the other 
hand, swore he had been chased by a huge vessel 
answering to the description of the Almirante, and 
this far to the south and east. 

So nobody knew what to believe, and things had 
begun to get somewhat slow and dull in the fleet. 

But on or about the third of May Admiral Samp¬ 
son’s larger vessels sailed from Key West, into 
which she had made a grand rush, in order to coal. 
She sailed under sealed orders. 

These are never opened until the fleet is well at 
sea. It was then discovered that they were to 
make all speed for Porto Rico, an island belonging 
to the Spanish, and lying to the east of the British 
possession, San Domingo. 

For it must be here, if anywhere, that Cervera 
had called in to “ coal ship.” 

Meanwhile, as Desmond is off Atlantic way in 
his brave ship the New York, let us pay a visit once 
more to the far Philippine Islands—an imaginative 
visit, that is, and find out all about the great naval 
battle at Manila. 

A telegram, dated May 1st, had reached Presi- 


CHAPTER VI 


The Battle at Manila—Admiral Dewey's 
Boyhood 

“ In battle form, the fleet now ranged, 

Lies silent on the sea; 

’Tis that the men to heaven may cry, 

And pray for victor**.” 1 — 

What daylight did reveal was this: a sky as 
blue and ethereal as ever artist conveyed to canvas, 
a sea of azure without a ruffle, tiny green islets 
that seemed to hang in the sky with, beneath each, 
a line of snow-white where the heaving sea broke 
lazily on a coral beach, but never a sail in sight, far 
or near. 

And steam was up again once more and the 
Bonito making good her way westward, to the de¬ 
light of all, especially of Aileen and her pets. 

Seldom perhaps were hearts lifted more thank¬ 
fully heavenward than were those to-day, at morn¬ 
ing prayers in the saloon. 

But in forty hours more the Bonito was safely 
under the wings of the gunboats and torpedo boats 
of the great North Atlantic squadron, and in a few 

1 The most solemn time at sea, is the three minutes allowed for 
prayer before a fleet engages.—G. S. 

224 


The Battle at Manila 


225 

days after, Ted, much to Aileen’s sorrow, was trans¬ 
ferred to his own ship in Schley’s squadron. 

But where could Cervera be with the splendid 
fleet of bold, chivalrous Spain. 

Nobody could answer that. Merchant-ships 
averred that they had seen the fleet far to the north 
and evidently about to make a descent on New York. 

The skipper of a Yankee schooner, on the other 
hand, swore he had been chased by a huge vessel 
answering to the description of the Almirante, and 
this far to the south and east. 

So nobody knew what to believe, and things had 
begun to get somewhat slow and dull in the fleet. 

But on or about the third of May Admiral Samp¬ 
son’s larger vessels sailed from Key West, into 
which she had made a grand rush, in order to coal. 
She sailed under sealed orders. 

These are never opened until the fleet is well at 
sea. It was then discovered that they were to 
make all speed for Porto Rico, an island belonging 
to the Spanish, and lying to the east of the British 
possession, San Domingo. 

For it must be here, if anywhere, that Cervera 
had called in to “ coal ship.” 

Meanwhile, as Desmond is off Atlantic way in 
his brave ship the New York, let us pay a visit once 
more to the far Philippine Islands—an imaginative 
visit, that is, and find out all about the great naval 
battle at Manila. 

A telegram, dated May 1st, had reached Presi- 


226 


Fighting For Cuba 

dent McKinley. He wasn’t the man to keep any 
good news to himself a moment longer than was 
necessary. 

The telegram came from Dewey—Admiral 
George Dewey, there, you have him all complete— 
and he was and is at this moment America’s pet 
sailor-boy. Why, ladies in the states actually call 
their favourite Persian cats after him, and among 
boys you will find many a rattling good bull-ter¬ 
rier, who answers to the name of Dewey, to say 
nothing of guinea-pigs. 

Well this telegram of Dewey’s spread like wild¬ 
fire all over America, and the sensation it created 
was too great to be described. 

What a wonderful thing is this telegraph system, 
that can flash words of joy from a distance of over 
6,000 miles, in a few seconds, to the heart of 
every inhabitant of so great a continent as North 
America. 

And this telegram was so brief, and so calm too. 
Had Dewey been simply wiring all was well in his 
fleet, and that he hoped to fall in with the Dons 
some day ere long, it could not have been more 
laconic. But those who received it could read be¬ 
tween the lines, and no wonder that as they did so, 
tears of joy dimmed the eyes of many an American 
man and woman, even at the breakfast-table. Here 
it is: 

“Manila, May 1.—Squadron reached Manila, 


The Battle at Manila 227 

daybreak this morning. Immediately engaged 
enemy and destroyed the following Spanish ves~ 
sels: Eeina Cristina; Don Antonia de Ulloa; Isla 
de Luzon; Isla de Cuba; General Lezo; Marquis 
de Duero; Cano ; Velasco; Isla de Mindano, a 
transport and water-battery at Cavite. The squad¬ 
ron is uninjured, and only a few men are slightly 
wounded. Only means of telegraphing is to Amer¬ 
ican Consul at Hong Kong. Dewey.” 

How every Yankee heart must have thrilled with 
pride and glory now. A victory like this brings 
back vividly before my mind’s eye the stories I 
have read of the triumphs the British navy used to 
gain in the grand days of old. The battle of the 
Baltic for instance, Kelson’s victory over the 
Danes. Just a verse or two from Tom Campbell’s 
poem: 

“ Of Nelson and the north 

Sing the glorious day’s renown, 

When to battle fierce went forth, 

All the might of Denmark’s crown 
And their arms along the deep proudly shone. 

By each gun a lighted brand, 

In a bold determined hand, 

And the prince of all the land 

Led them on.” 

Ho wonder readers that: 

“ While the sign of battle flew 
On the lofty British line, 

There was silence deep as death 
For a time.” 


228 


Fighting For Cuba 

For a time only, though, for: 

“ ‘ Hearts of Oak ’ our captains cried, then each gun 
From its adamantine lips 
Spread a death-shade round the ships, 

Like the hurricane-eclipse 

Of the sun.” 

And so the battle now begun, raged on: 

“ Till a feeble cheer the Danes 
To our cheering sent us back; — 

While their shouts along the deep slowly boom: — 

Then ceased, 

—and all is wail, 

As they strike the shattered sail, 

Or in conflagration pale, 

Light the gloom.” 

Surely no more blood-stirring and spirited lines 
ever fell from the pen of Scottish poet, and yet 
Dewey’s simple telegram to the people at home 
was probably quite as effective. 

But virtually speaking, the battle of the Baltic 
was won by one man and that was Nelson, the soul 
of the fleet, and the great naval engagement at 
Manila was won by—Dewey. 

I must confess that I myself, previous to the 
war against effete Spain, was one of the boys 
who knew little or nothing of Dewey, and not a 
very great deal of the new American Navy either. 
So when war was declared I took to studying this 
latter, well remembering the brave deeds that were 
done by ships, and their crews in ’63 and ’64* 
although I was then but a youth. 


The Battle at Manila 


229 

After the battle of Manila, last year I found 
myself asking, “ What manner of man is Dewey ? ” 

I came across photographs of several notables 
across the Atlantic, and I liked Dewey’s face. He 
seemed to me a man with a purpose, a man meant 
for something, a man with a fixed idea, that it 
would take a deal of lever power to move or 
shake. 

It is exceedingly difficult to judge men’s char¬ 
acters from photos. Schley looks thoughtful, clever, 
and kind. Secretary Long, jolly. Sigsbee and I 
would have much to say had I the honour to meet 
him. Captain Charles E. Clark is a British officer 
out and out, and he is going to do big licks yet. As 
for President McKinley—a Scot I suppose—he 
looks stern and just, and has a really handsome 
face. 

Well, boy-readers, Dewey proved at Manila what 
manner of man he was. 

But this was not going to satisfy me. 

Had he ever been a boy, I wondered ? 

That is a real boy. Hot one of your little curly- 
haired “ kids ” that are fond of lollipops, in whose 
“ mim-mouths ” butter would remain solid, when 
mamma or auntie is in the room, but who torment 
the cat and pull the legs from flies when they are 
gone. 

Fact is, I like a boy with a spice of the monkey 
in him, but he must have a brave, kind heart to 
back it up. How here is what my reading gave 


230 Fighting For Cuba 

me to know shortly after that sea-fight in the Phil¬ 
ippines. It was an old kindly woman from Ver¬ 
mont, who told the little yarn. 

“Did I know Georgie Dewey? Well I swan. 
But I guess he were a droll lad and about as full of 
mischief as a little old nick. Could scheme, too. 
Here is a tale of his boyhood. All boys I suppose 
are fond of apples. Well there was a particular tree 
that George and his playmates used to pass most 
every night, and their mouths did water I can as¬ 
sure you, to see the rosy-cheeked fruit risin’ and 
failin’ like, on the wind. 

“ 4 I say,’ cries Dewey, one afternoon, 4 if you two 
fellows’ll help me, we’ll each have a handkerchief¬ 
ful of those beauties to-night! I know when old 

B-goes to bed. There’ll be a moon, and Towser 

is always taken indoors.’ 

“ So, when old B-went to have a look at his 

tree next morning, his white hair just stood bolt 
upright and his hat fell off. 

44 Towser picked it up and took that old hat into 
his kennel to chew at his leisure. 

“ 4 It’s the boys,’ he groaned; 4 and that ne’er-do- 
well Dewey’s at the bottom of the play.’ 

44 The schoolmaster was informed, and he got some 
sneaks to tell him if there was likely to be another 
raid on the orchard and when. Well, Dewey him¬ 
self informed those sneaks that he and two others 

would have some fun that night, at B-’s. And 

no lie either. 




The Battle at Manila 


23 1 

“ 4 Ah, thank you, my dear lads,’ said the school¬ 
master, ‘for telling me. Here’s a nickel for you, 
and you are good boys, and will become great men 
yet. May be even school-teachers, though such 
high position doesn’t fall to the lot of all.’ 

“ Then the teacher determined to watch, armed 
with a cane. (‘ Arma Virumque Cano ,’ is the 
first line in Yirgil, you know, and means ‘Arm 
a man with a cane.’) 

“The boys knew he would come, and so they 
placed a hogshead, with nothing in it, just outside 
the open fence, and then went r and hid. 

“ The moon shone very brightly, when the 
teacher came. 

“‘That’ll do fine,’ says he, ‘I can watch the 
nickems through the bung-hole.’ 

“ So in he crept into his hiding. 

“And out came the boys—Dewey first—from 
theirs. They crept quietly up to the barrel. Ho 
pussy could have been flyer or slyer. Then they 
gave the barrel a push and off down the hill it 
went, the teacher shouting ‘ mar bleu ! ’ for all he 
was worth. 

“ He was limping, next morning, and had a bad 
black eye. But Dewey and his mates looked as 
innocent as three baa-lammies and weren’t even 
suspected. 

“ Dewey,” continued the old dame, “ when only 
a little bit of a nipper was asked by a neighbour to 
take her baby out for an airing in her pram. She 


232 


Fighting For Cuba 


said, 4 If you’ll give her a nice run I’ll mebbe give 
you something.’ 

“ But uncertainties didn’t appeal to Dewey. 4 She 
shall have a run and no mistake,’ he said, to him¬ 
self, and off he started at the gallop, baby’s poor 
little insides being well-nigh shaken out of her. 
Up and down, and up and down, quite astonishing 
everyone who saw him. 

“ 4 Here’s a wild Indian on the boundless prairie ! ’ 
he shouted. ‘Here’s Crowfoot on his untamable 
steed, feathers and all! ’ 

“But just then the wheel caught the curb and 
over went the whole show. 

“ Georgie quickly bundled in mats, pillow, baby, 
rugs and all, higgledy-piggledy. 

44 Then he signed to a gutter-snipe boy. 

“ 4 Want to earn a nickel ? ’ 

44 4 Ah, ay ? ’ 

44 4 Well, wheel this pram to No. 4, yonder, and 
knock. Tell the lady, that if she shakes the things, 
she’ll find the baby hid somewhere at the bottom, 
and that it has had a two-horse power run. She’ll 
give you a nickel.’ 

44 4 On the ear! ’ he said, as he ran right away 
home. And my! the grass didn’t have a chance 
to grow up between his toes till he got there, 
either.” 


* * * * * * 

I have a whole collection of yarns about Dewey’s 


The Battle at Manila 


2 33 

early days, and if only ten per cent, of them are 
true he must have been a broth of a boy. 

Just one little yarn illustrative of Dewey’s love 
for his sailors. It is told by one of the war cor¬ 
respondents, and, therefore, is just as true as they 
make such stories. 

Dewey was then captain of a gunboat, called the 
Pensacola, (after a large and important town in 
Florida), and the vessel was at Manila. 

Well, sailors will be sailors, and some liberty 
men had seen somebody drinking on shore, at Ma¬ 
nila, and I suppose the fumes from their grog- 
glasses had gone to the bold Jackies’ noddles, for, 
of course, a man-o’-war sailor never looks at wine, 
or rum either. 

So they began to sing, and continued singing 
along the street. They intimated to all, that 
they belonged to the stars and stripes, and to the 
eagle that soared, and that if they did not believe 
them, they would fight any fifty men, just there 
and then. The dust began to fly after that, and 
some Spanish noses were set a-bleeding to allay it. 
The guard was turned out, but the Jackies fought 
their way through the mob, reached their boats, 
and went singing out into the bay where their ship 
was swinging at anchor. 

After breakfast, next morning, the port captain, 
himself, came off arrayed in full uniform, and look¬ 
ing as proud as a pouter pigeon. 

Dewey received him with great courtesy, and 


2 34 


Fighting For Cuba 


listened to the story of the riot. He regretted it 
much, but was sorry he could see no way of assist¬ 
ing the Don. 

“ I beg to differ, sir,” cried the pouter, puffing his 
chest out still more. “ You can parade your crew, 
and I have men here in my boat who will speedily 
pick out the ringleaders.” 

Then, as the saying is—“ Dewey’s dander riz.” 

He pointed, heroically, to the flag that fluttered 
in the breeze, aloft. 

“ That, sir,” he said, “ is the Stars and Stripes; 
my quarter-deck is United States territory, and I’ll 
parade my men for no blamed foreigner who ever 
drew breath! Good-morning! ” 


CHAPTER VII 


How Dewey Peppered the Don — 44 Remember 
the Maine ! " 


“ But prayers are o’er, the bugle sounds; 
Now, stand by every gun, 

With shout of men and fires of death, 
The battle is begun.”— Anon. 


You and I, reader, have already been to Manila 
in the Philippines with our heroes, and we had some 
fun and adventure there, too. 

We know Corregidor island, with its lighthouse, 
and we know Cavite and also the big city, old and 
new, with the bay, as well. So in describing the 
sea-fight I need not apologise for studying brevity. 

The battle, I need hardly say, ranks as one of the 
biggest kind of victories in the history of this young 
but marvelous Republic, with which we may well 
be thankful that we can count kinship. 

The Spanish general—Davila—about a week be¬ 
fore the battle, issued a proclamation to the Filh 
pinos, whom they had hitherto governed as kindly 
and thoughtfully as they did the poor Cubans ! It 
contained so much fan-farror that it only excited 
the mirth and laughter of the insurgents of Luzon. 

235 


236 Fighting For Cuba 

In this proclamation the rebels were informed that 
now was the time to join hand in hand and shoulder 
to shoulder against the impious and perfidious 
Americanos. If they did so, the struggle would be 
short and decisive , and the god of battle would 
grant them a victory as brilliant as the justice of 
their cause demanded. (Dewey gave them all that 
and a trifle over for luck.) 

United under the glorious Spanish flag, which 
was ever covered with laurels, they were to fight, 
with the firm conviction that success would crown 
their efforts, and to the heathen yells of their 
enemies, they were to oppose the Christian and 
patriotic cry of viva espana ! 

It was on the morning of the 27th of April that 
Dewey with his fleet sailed from a bay not far from 
Hong Kong. His best ships were the Olympia, 
bearing the admiral’s flag, a smart and splendid 
cruiser; the Kaleigh, the Baltimore, the Petrel, 
Concord and Boston. 

The fleet dashed across the China sea and passed 
Corregidor island about twelve midnight. This 
island was fortified, but all hands were asleep. 

There were batteries to the right along toward 
Cavite point, batteries at Cavite itself and at Pinos, 
more on the mainland, while in two rows in Baker 
bay between, lay the Spanish fleet, nine or ten in 
number. 

A rocket thrown up discovered to the Dons the 
presence of the foe. 


How Dewey Peppered the Don 237 

A few shots and shells were exchanged then fell 
silence and darkness once again. 

But at eight bells in the morning watch (four A. 
M.) the Jackies were aroused and had a light repast. 

Soon after this, the lights of Manila were sighted 
about five miles ahead. 

But Dewey steamed well up the bay, till he could 
see the enemy’s fleet “ cuddled doon ” in the bay 
betwixt Cavite and Pinos. It was rather soon for 
Dons to get up. Hammocks are cosy institutions, 
and Dewey could wait—or walk. 

Dewey wouldn’t wait, but he would walk. He 
did, too, and with a vengeance! 

Up the bay, then, bearing round to the starboard, 
the wake of his ships forming a loop like the bight 
of a rope, Dewey returned toward the little bay 
where the Spanish fleet was ensconced. He had 
now the Manila forts on his left. He could have 
silenced these, but this was not his game. 

He swept down like a wolf on the fold in which 
the Don’s sheep lay. He would give Manila a word 
or two all in good time. 

Dew< y’s pluck and courage may be learned from 
the fact that amidst all the storm of shot and shell 
that now raged around him, he stood on the bridge 
alone with Flag Lieutenant Lamberton, to the 
imminent danger of both, while Gridley, the com¬ 
mander, occupied the Conning Tower. 

Honour to whom honour is due, however, and it 
is said that Admiral Montojo, on the Spanish side, 


238 Fighting For Cuba 

did likewise and stood there even when the bridge 
was almost shot away. 

Indeed I should feel sorry and sore all over if I 
penned a sentence that might cause my young 
readers to imagine I did not give the Dons credit 
for courage and chivalry. I do; it is their awful 
and cowardly cruelty to the bleeding Cubans and 
to the rebels in the Philippines that I do so sincerely 
regret and hate. 

On dashes the Olympia, the bolts of war falling 
harmlessly around her, shells bursting in the air and 
wounding but a few. 

Dewey saw two huge balloons of white water 
rising near him, where mines had been fired. 

The next might blow the great cruiser sky-high, 
as the Dons had blown the warship in Havana. 
But neither the admiral nor Lamberton blanched 
nor said a word. 

Then high above the battle’s roar came the 
famous war cry 

“Remember the Maine ! ” 

The enemy must have heard it and trembled. 
Nervous the Dons must have been, or the gunners 
only half awake. For their shot and shell fell 
anywhere, everywhere, except in the right place. 

Then, at last, Dewey gave his commander, Grid- 
ley, a quiet order to commence firing, if quite ready. 

Gridley was, and did fire, and with some effect, 


How Dewey Peppered the Don 239 

while the other ships of the fleet took line and 
blazed away to keep him company. 

The American fleet, it seems, kept in motion, 
swinging round parallel to the Spanish lines—if we 
can call an ellipse parallel, delivering the thun¬ 
derbolts of war, now from port and now from star¬ 
board. 

The rattle of the quick-firing guns was incessant, 
deafening, dreadful! 

But look, what is that great armoured vessel 
bearing down upon the Olympia, as if desirous of 
finishing the battle by a blow ? 

It is the Rein a Cristina. 

This was a daring and desperate deed. But alas! 
for Spain, such a battle-storm poured into her that 
even the brave admiral was compelled to turn stern. 
And it was just then that a well-directed eight-inch 
shell from Dewey’s ship raked her aft to fore. We 
are told that it hit her squarely, tearing inward 
through everything, wrecking the after boiler and 
blowing up the deck. 

But though her men lay dead and dismembered 
in all directions, and though she was now on fire, 
the Reina kept up the battle for twenty minutes, 
then slowly sank. 

Two torpedo boats next came tearing toward the 
Olympia. A shell sunk one almost at once. The 
other fled and was cast on shore—a wreck. Then 
a gunboat advanced to charge Dewey’s ships, and 
directed her force on the McCullough. 


240 


Fighting For Cuba 


She, too, had to fly! 

Nearer and still more near now move brave 
Dewey’s ships, and the scene was now a fearful one 
indeed. May so terrible a battle never rage in our 
English channel unless we have as brave men and 
even bigger ships than Dewey’s to defend us. It 
was like a hell on the ocean wave. 

“ As if ships fought upon the sea, 

And fiends in upper air.” 

But now something more strange happened than 
anything I have ever read of. But it redounds, 
nevertheless, to the courage and coolness of Ad¬ 
miral Dewey. 

He ceased firing and drew off his ships. 

Out beyond range went they. 

Were they beaten? Scarcely. But the men 
were exhausted for want of food and with the con¬ 
stant excitement kept up for hours. 

“ Pipe all hands for breakfast! ” 

Breakfast and a good rest. 

Then back they came to finish the fight. 

It was now 11:15 a. m., and they found, that al¬ 
most without exception, every ship in the Spanish 
fleet was on fire and in extremis. Swaying rest¬ 
lessly about like great monsters in a death struggle, 
burning fiercely, blowing up and—sinking. 

It needed but a few more shots to complete the 
annihilation. 

But why should I continue? Why paint my 


How Dewey Peppered the Don 241 

pages redder than they are ? Let us draw the cur¬ 
tain then, and hide the dreadful scene from our 
view. 

There is no doubt that, even in America, after 
Dewey’s telegram gave notice of the victory, 
there were many people, kind and true, who 
dropped a tear for the sad fate that had befallen 
a bold fleet and courageous foe; and as Campbell 
hath it for the 

“ Brave hearts. 

Once so faithful and so true 
On the deck of fame that died,” 

and who could also say with the poet: 

“ Soft sigh the winds of heaven o’er their graves! 

While the billow mournful rolls, 

And the mermaid’s song condoles, 

Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave! ” 

Good-bye, Manila. Good-bye, Filipinos. May the 
possession of your islands by the foreign power 
never prove a thorn in the sides of the truly Chris¬ 
tian people, that have overthrown the might and 
power of Spain. 


CHAPTER VIII 

Off to Porto Rico Bay—A Web-footed Soldier 

“ But where is Cervera, and where is his fleet, 

Has the courage oozed out at his heels, 

Does he think he’d be better, at home and in bed ? 

Is that how the old fellow feels ? ” 

— The Man on the Bridge. 

Until Admiral Sampson opened his sealed orders, 
not he himself, much less anyone on board, had any 
distinct notion whither this big, strong fleet was 
bound. But after that the news “ spread like wild¬ 
fire.’ 7 So far as I am concerned, this is merely a 
figure of speech; anyhow, I have never seen wild¬ 
fire spreading, but from all accounts it beats bad 
news. 

“ So we’re off to have a peep at Porto Kico,” said 
Beaver to Desmond, as arm in arm they walked up 
and down, or fore and aft. 

“ Yes ; what sort of a place is it ? ” 

“ Never been there you know, but guess from all 
accounts it is one of the most romantic and pretty 
islands ever made. Drake of ours told me. 
Drake’s been there and everywhere, and he’s done 
everything, or thinks he has. But the lowlands are 
fertile in the extreme. You’ve only got to cut 
242 


Off to Porto Rico Bay 243 

down the scrub and scratch the ground and it 
grows what you like. Coffee, sugar, and tobacco. 
Yams of course—and roasted in ashes with a lump 
of salt butter, Dess there isn’t much to beat one 
if you’re ‘keeping’ the middle watch and can 
manage to steal down into the engine-room for 
ten minutes. Well there are plenty of cocoanuts 
and bananas. Yes, and Drake says that the 
fruit is more abundant there than in any other 
part of the whole universal creation. All crea¬ 
tion and Drake are excellent friends and old ac¬ 
quaintances, when he is spinning a yarn, you bet. 
And he told me that the mountain ranges are wide 
and wild, and covered to the top with splendid 
forests, and that the flowering trees in the island 
would cure the worst case of ophthalmia ever 
known, if the eye-sick patient only could look three 
times at them. 

“ But there are snakes up high, he says, longer 
than flag poles. They just fasten the end of their 
tail round a tree, grab you by the back of the neck 
—their teeth being fully an inch long above board 
—and proceed to wind the slack of their body 
round you. You can’t escape them; you’ve just got 
to say your prayers, think about home and fall 
asleep to slow music.” 

“ Music ? ” 

“ Yes, the music of your bones being crunched, 
crack—crack; cricketty-crack ! ” 

“ Ugh ! I shouldn’t like it.” 


244 Fighting For Cuba 

“ Mebbe not, but Drake told me for a fact—one 
of Drake’s true facts, mind you, not his ordinary 
ones—that he was once nearly wound up like this. 
But as soon as he heard the first crack out came his 
jock-the-leg knife. He stuck it right in the python’s 
neck, and as the beast went round and round 
toward the tree, where he had left his tail, ripped 
him all the way down. The natives had sausage 
skin for a month and Drake was none the worse. 
Mind you, Drake doesn’t do anything by halves. 
He tells a most beautiful story. I had to give my 
tongue a holiday just after Drake joined the mess. 
I wasn’t in it with Drake.” 

“ I suppose we’ll meet and fight the Dons at 
Porto Bico ? ” 

“ O yes, at San Juan, (pronounce San Hoo-ahn) 
that’s a fortified bay, you know; very long bay, none 
too broad, with the town at the top of it. Depend 
upon it, old Sampson will give the ‘ Spaniels ’ con¬ 
vulsions. But it will take us a jolly long time to 
get there having these hulking ‘ crabs ’ to tug all 
the way.” 

The “ crabs ” Beaver referred to were the monitors 
so called by Jackie Tars. 

What Beaver said was perfectly true. The 
“crabs ” did spoil and delay the voyage, and Jackie, 
used words that are never heard in fashionable 
drawing-rooms. 

But bless Jackie’s innocent soul, that didn’t mend 
matters a bit. 


Off to Porto Rico Bay 245 

It was well that the weather kept fine, for any¬ 
thing like half a hurricane even would have re¬ 
sulted in separation, and the monitors would have 
been left “ to yaw and wobble ” as Beaver ex¬ 
pressed it. 

“Never mind,” added the plucky young fellow, 
“we’re slow but I guess we’ll get there all the 
same and cabbage the whole beautiful and healthy 
island.” 

“Think so?” 

“ Think so ? I’m sure. It’s a thundering sight 
too good for the Spaniards. The eagle’s going to 
do a bit of soaring yonder. You may bet your 
bootlaces on that, Adeane.” 

When Desmond wasn’t lounging and laughing 
with his messmates, he was playing with the officers’ 
pets. 

Sailors must have pets, so in the American Navy 
you will find dogs, cats, a young and innocent bear, 
a cock, a white rat, or a duck even. 

One soft-hearted fellow fought more than one 
battle with Jeannie, his pet piebald rat, kept in the 
slack of a garment he wore. 

When not at play Desmond was at work, study¬ 
ing the internal economy of the ship. 

And this is very intricate indeed, whether the 
great cruiser or battle-ship belongs to the American 
or the British navy. 

Dess had his father’s long head—well, I mean one 
built after the same model—and he was of a very 


246 Fighting For Cuba 

inquiring turn of mind. Even when a child, if any 
one presented him with a new toy that did some¬ 
thing, .Dess was never content until he dissected it 
and found out what made it go. 

Often at night he would find his way up to the 
bridge, and knowing his keenness and desire to 
learn, the officer of the watch did not turn him back. 

And mind you this latter officer must have all his 
wits about him, and know everything that is going 
on everywhere, both aboard and all around on the 
starlit sea. 

He has a naval cadet with him, and two, some¬ 
times three messengers within hail, and the work 
altogether is trying, especially if it be blowing a bit, 
and the smoke cut off short from the funnel-top and 
carried in dense dark masses over the sea. 

There was little time for talk on the bridge. The 
officer’s ears and eyes too were constantly on the 
alert, for the slightest accident would mean court- 
martialing, and, if he were found guilty of negli¬ 
gence, his career as a sailor would be doomed for 
evermore. 

I tell you boys,—boys I mean who hope to 
go to sea and do well there—that a naval officer’s 
duty nowadays is no sinecure, and it is getting 
harder every year. 

I have heard of feather-bed soldiers, but a feather¬ 
bed sailor would get kicked out of his ship in a 
week. 

The man behind the gun is one of the most im- 


Off to Porto Rico Bay 247 

portant machines on board a fighting ship. His 
work I do not envy, though he always seems to 
take a pride in it. 

Desmond tried hard to learn all he could about 
gunnery, but it is the hardest study afloat, and 
though a marine may be manufactured in a month, 
a month of Sundays will hardly make a true-blue 
British or American gunner. 

Ton my honour, and I’ve got a trifle left, I don’t 
know which is the better, for, you see, reader, 
American Jackie is of the same old school as we 
ourselves are, and it just takes 300 years to make a 
single sailor. It has been all a matter of evolution. 

Moreover Jackie makes an excellent torpedo-man, 
and the marine artillery it would be difficult to beat 
at target practice, should the target be a steel-clad 
battery or an iron or steel battle-ship, and he will 
take his stand in the tops, too, as coolly as a curate 
in his vicar’s pulpit, and make it as hot for a foe as 
he knows how to. 

All honour and glory, then, to this branch of the 
service, whether in our own wondrous navy or in 
that of our kinsmen across the sea. 

****** 

I have already said that when Desmond joined 
the service he had to stand a good deal of banter 
and chaff from his messmates. But before sailing 
from Cuba for Porto Bico, two young marine officers 
joined, two commissioned Jackies or griffins. On 


248 Fighting For Cuba 

shore they had doubtless been downy-lipped mash¬ 
ers, young fellows, with their three-inch stick-up 
collars as stiff as the splashboards of a jaunting car. 

It would have been quite impossible for the gun¬ 
room fellows not to have laughed at them and their 
droll ways. They were in all the glory of their 
first month, so to speak, with uncreased uniform, 
sword belts you might have seen to shave in, and 
doubly-gilt swords—what your British marines call 
cheese-knives. 

Then they wanted so much, and wondered so 
much at everything that, really, the middy who 
failed to chaff them wouldn’t have been human. 
How on earth could a true-hearted, easy-go-lucky 
young sailor officer stand a masher who intoned his 
English or lisped, and whose four fingers were al¬ 
most constantly smoothing a moustache that hadn’t 
come there yet ? 

Desmond really felt sorry for these chaps, as he 
remembered what he himself had had to endure. 
So, though he laughed, he did not join in the chaff¬ 
ing. 

The chaff was often senseless enough, too. 

Just a specimen or two, as proof of this. 

“ I say, Ginger! ” Bowles remarked, at what was 
called dessert, and looking across the table at the 
fair-haired soldier, “ a glass of claret with you.” 

“ Thanks. I—I—aw—cannot refuse, but pardon 
me, my name is Kawlinson.” 

“ Certainly, Ginger Bawlinson.” 


Off to Porto Rico Bay 249 

“ No—no—George, not Ginger.” 

“May I join?” cries Beaver. “Brown! you old 
fat-head, pass the claret. Ginger, I drink to you 
and to your prettiest sister.” 

“I—I haven’t a sister,” says Ginger, blushing, 
“ only just a little sweetheart.” 

u O then, I’m on. You’ll introduce me and 
Bowles, won’t you ? Bowles always goes mad after 
any other fellow’s mash, don’t you know.” 

The wine mounts to young Webfoot’s head and 
he gets quite confidential, and with flushed face, 
prattles prettily about his balls and parties, city 
and university life, and tells even about the scores 
of girls that have loved him “in my little time, 
don’t you know.” 

“ Yaas—yaas, ce’tainly,” from several interested 
members of the mess. “Must have seen a lot of 
life, Ginger, that doesn’t lie in our line.” 

“ I do declare! ” cried Beaver, during a lull in the 
conversation, and looking under the table as he 
spoke. “ What an omission! Steward, bring Lieu¬ 
tenant Rawlinson a footstool at once! ” 

“ To be shuah, sah,” said a smart ebony servant. 
“ Find I have only got an empty cheese-box, though.” 

“Well, bring that and place it upside down, and 
write 4 Footstools’ on the memo card.” 

“ Steward! ” 

“ That’s me, sah! ” 

“ Are hammocks piped down ? ” 

“ Long ergo, sah.” 


250 


Fighting For Cuba 


“Well, tell Mr. Bawlinson’s servant, Private 
Block, to see that his master’s night-shirt is well 
aired and to stand by to show him how to swing in.” 

Desmond felt a trifle sorry for him and the follow¬ 
ing forenoon ventured to advise him. 

Moreover our sailor hero undertook to put him 
up to the ropes in a good many ways, and to teach 
him ship’s parlance, which is certainly in every way 
expressive enough, though it does sound Greek to a 
land-lubber. 

Our hero, Desmond, was nothing if not straight¬ 
forward. Never was he known to beat about the 
bush very long. If he saw his duty, he went for it 
straight. When he got his aim he drew the trigger. 

It was because he saw what few others had no¬ 
ticed, namely, that there was some good at the bot¬ 
tom of Ginger’s heart, that he determined to be a 
father to him. 

He took him by the arm one morning after quar¬ 
ters and marched along with him for a breather. 

“Pm going to be a father to you!” he said, 
^raignt. 

“ O, ya-as,” laughed Ginger, “ a father, and all 
that sort of thing, ha ! ha! good ! ” 

“Well, Bawlinson, I’m only sixteen in years and 
you’re a little more. But I’m sixty in experience. 
And I don’t drink and I don’t smoke.” 

“ I’m trying—aw—aw, to learn both, it’s manly, 
don’t you know ? ” 

“ Bosh! Ginger, don’t be an illustrious idiot! 


Off to Porto Rico Bay 251 

Now don’t touch that beastly wine of an even- 
ing. If you only saw yourself when you do. 
Stupid isn’t a name for it. Your drooping eyelidsj 
your flushed face and simpering ways, it’s a shilling 
you’d give to be shot, sure enough. When I’m 
twenty I may or I may not smoke. It mightn’t 
hurt me anyhow. ’Cause I’m not nervous, but you 
are.” 

“ 0 ya-as—what’s the best thing for that ? ” 

“The ship’s pump.” 

“ Wha-at ? ” 

“Don’t drawl your words. Talk smart. Rattle 
your words out like a quick-firer, or you’ll never be 
a sailor. I said ship’s pump. Come on deck with 
me of a morning and have the hose turned on you.” 

“ Yes, and you think I wouldn’t blush any more. 
It’s so foolish you know.” 

“ The hose and the breezy life you’ll lead here on 
board and on shore, when we land to have a brush 
with the Dons, will soon knock the nervousness out 
of you.” 

“ I’m delighted. I say, Mr. Adeane.” 

“ Drop the Mr. It isn’t ‘ ship-shape.’ ” 

“ Well, Adeane, you’re not half a bad fellow, and 
when this cruel war is over, you must come and see 
our little place near Central Park. Mother will be 
de-ee-lighted. 

“Well,” he continued, “shall we go downstairs 
and join the other fellows. I’ll stop the wine and 
the smokes.” 


252 


Fighting For Cuba 

“Right, but don’t say downstairs and upstairs. 
Say I’m going ‘ below, and I’m going on deck.’ ” 

“ O, thanks! ” 

“ It isn’t stairs, it’s a ladder or companion ladder.” 

“ How funny! ” 

“Yes, maybe, and when you come off from shore 
and get on board, then as soon as you get clear of 
the gangway, lift your hat. You are not saluting 
anybody only the quarter-deck and the flag. When 
the stars and stripes are being hoisted or lowered 
you may as well salute. It looks well in a young¬ 
ster, though it isn’t a written law.” 

Desmond told him a lot more, and Ginger be¬ 
came a very apt pupil. 

Desmond did more, he asked several of his mess¬ 
mates to have pity on the webfoot soldier, and 
they promised. 

****** 

The fleet reached Porto Rico at last, only to find 
that Cervera with his armada—the floating might 
of Spain—was not here. 

Admiral Sampson was not coming all this way 
for nothing, however, so he boldly entered the long 
and somewhat narrow bay and engaged the forts. 

This was the first time that Ginger, the elegant, 
the refined, the lady-killer and mother’s darling 
had been under fire. And I must confess as every¬ 
one else did, that he behaved wonderfully well. 

Once during the terrible fire from the forts he 
found time to say a word to Desmond. 


Off to Porto Rico Bay 253 

I say, Dess, old man. Tell me, ’cause you know 
everything. When a shot is coming straight for 
your head should you stand erect, and perhaps 
have it lifted off ? ” 

“ Carried away you mean,” said Dess. “ JSTo, cer¬ 
tainly not, duck your head. We all duck. Ta, ta, 
I’m going on the bridge.” 


CHAPTER IX 

Bottling up the Don—A glance at Santiago 

“ Hurrah! ” cried brave Jackie, “ so we’ve nailed you at last! 

Why, Cervera, we thought you had gone; 

Well, we sailors have shifted some grog in our day, 

So now let us bottle the Don! ”—The Bridge. 

The bold and clever Sampson had done most 
excellent work at San Juan, and Porto Bico was, 
from the date of this bombardment, virtually one of 
America’s colonies. The battle between the forts 
and ships had been very hot and terrible, and while 
we read the accounts of it, we cannot help wonder¬ 
ing that Sampson did so much damage with so 
little loss of men, or injury to his fleet. 

But we must not take this as a sample of future 
engagements between batteries and ships of war. 
If the British and Americans are the best marks¬ 
men in the world, I think I am right in saying that 
the Dons are among the worst. 

Well we are out at sea once more, though the 
heads and ears of both officers and men, are still 
singing and ringing with the awful din and roar 
of a modern naval fight. Indeed, the doctors had 
to report several cases of insomnia, that quite in- 

254 


Bottling up the Don 255 

capacitated the sufferers from doing anything like 
good work on deck. 

“ How did you like to be under fire, my dear 
Ginger Webfoot?” said Beaver that day at dinner. 
“I was very much interested, though when I saw 

our fellows—the common sailors you know_” 

“ Retract! retract! ” 

I mean of course the brave gunner chaps firing 
up at the great forts, it was awful fun ! ” 

“And you weren’t afraid, Ginger ?” 

“ O, fearfully afraid, ’cause our shot went up and 
the Dons’ shot came down and I was in double 
danger, but when Adeane told me I could duck—I 
—why I just ducked, you know.” 

“Well, boys,” said the president, “ we’re off now 
in search of Cervera. I’d give a day’s pay to know 

where the skulking son of a sea-cook is-” 

“Was Cervera’s mother really a sea-cook, sir?” 
said Ginger, innocently. 

“ O! come, come,” cried Beaver, “ do be merciful, 
Ginger. You’ll kill me some day! ” 

And now the search for the Spanish fleet began 
to get more earnest than ever. 

The news of its whereabouts was very conflicting. 
That it was in the West Indies no one doubted, for 
it had been seen by many ships of the mercantile 
marine, even of Britain, and duly reported. 

Sampson for a time transferred his flag to the 
Iowa, though I do not quite know why. America 
meant to be very active, however, and Commodore 


256 Fighting For Cuba 

Schley, with his flying squadron, which had been 
waiting like a couched lion at Hampton Eoads, was 
dispatched in all haste to Key West. 

Here it would meet Sampson, who was bound 
northward and west for the same rendezvous. 

Teddy McCoy was on board Schley’s own flag¬ 
ship, the Brooklyn, and this with the Massachusetts, 
and Texas, along with the Scorpion got first into 
Key West. But in dashed Sampson on the eight¬ 
eenth in a terrible hurry—the Hew York first. 

Schley was coaled and so little time was there, 
that Desmond could not get aboard the Brook¬ 
lyn to see his dear friend Ted. As they passed 
near, however, he waved his hand to the brave 
young fellow and received a friendly signal in 
return. 

Off went Schley, bound for Cienfuegos, expecting 
to find the fleet of the warlike Don there. 

So quickly had the coaling been got over, Samp¬ 
son in the Hew York and the rest of the fleet de¬ 
parted on the 21st of May. The Iowa had gone on 
before to join Schley, and Sampson was going to 
circumnavigate Cuba, and it would be strange in¬ 
deed, he told his flag-lieutenant, if they did not 
catch Cervera. 

“ If,” he added, somewhat dolefully, “ Commodore 
Schley doesn’t smash him before we can get in an 
oar.” 

By this time the American-Spanish war was 
“ fairly on ” as Beaver phrased it, and so far it had 


Bottling up the Don 257 

all gone against the Dons, not only in the West 
Indies, but in the far Philippines. 

But great things were still being prophesied for 
Admiral Cervera at home in his own country, and 
hopes were heaped high on his broad, brave old 
shoulders. But he lacked the dash and vim or go 
of sailors even in the time when Drake used to de¬ 
stroy their fleets on sight. Whatever an admiral’s 
fleet may be, movement and brilliant action are as 
much needed now as in the days of old. Cervera 
lacked these qualities. He wasn’t the man to hurry, 
and “ manana ” (to-morrow) seemed to be his motto. 

There is just one excuse to be made for him. He 
found himself rather hard up for want of coal and 
found it very difficult indeed to get any. 

Had Spain been quite ready for war it might 
have altered matters slightly—by delaying the de¬ 
nouement. 

“ Spain should have had coaling stations on cer¬ 
tain islands,” I have heard landsmen say. 

O yes, most assuredly, and what a truly excel¬ 
lent thing this would have been for America. 
Would she not have helped herself liberally—and 
had no bill to pay either ? 

“ Just debit this to Spain,” Sampson or Schley 
would have told the governor of such a station, after 
he had cleared it quite out. 

For America was playing a lovely game. Chess 
wasn’t in it. 

But at last, acting as policemen say, on in- 


Fighting For Cuba 


258 

formation received, Schley made up his mind to 
leave Cienfuegos and sail directly for Santiago de 
Cuba, and there, if he should find the Don—old 
Cervera—to bottle him up. 

Schley arrived off here on the twenty-seventh, I 
think, and immediately proceeded to place his ships 
in a line parellel to the mouth of the bay. 

The bay of Santiago is a very beautiful one, not 
more than six miles long and about two wide. It is in 
reality, however, not a bay at all, but a gulf or sea- 
lock. A bay, speaking with geographical accuracy, 
has a wide opening. Santiago is entered by a chan¬ 
nel hardly broad enough to permit two ships to get 
in abreast. This opening is guarded on the east 
side by an old fort, Morro Castle, with big guns, 
situated high on the hill; on the west were newly- 
built batteries, armed with modern artillery. In 
fact, taken as a whole, Santiago bay is shaped 
somewhat like a Florence oil flask, and if you sailed 
in through the neck of the bay, you would come to 
a little island—Cayo Smith, or Smith’s rock—which 
the Spaniards had armed well, and Blanco fort is 
much farther up and nearer to the city itself, which 
latter lies at the top of the gulf, on the right-hand 
side. 

It was fated then, that in and around Santiago 
bay and on shore the war should, for the most part, 
rage and rage till the welcome close. The greatest 
and bravest deeds of the world’s naval history would 
also be enacted here. 


Bottling up the Don 259 

We ought therefore to know a little more about 
the town itself than Desmond’s adventures herein 
gave us. 

It, in one sense, bears the same relation to Cuba 
that Glasgow does to Great Britain. It is the 
second city of the empire. The relationship ends 
just there, however, and it would be difficult indeed 
to find any city in the world much more unlike 
Glasgow, unless it be Zanzibar, and I have lived in 
both. 

Before the war and the rebellion—had you 
steamed up the bay and dropped your anchor off 
Santiago—you would have soon found the vessel 
quite surrounded by a crowd of boats loaded up 
with Cuban niggers and Spanish, with no clothes on 
them worth mentioning, but jabbering, shouting, 
squabbling and squalling as they offered their wares 
for sale. Yery cheap everything is, and the fruit 
and flowers which they know that Americans and 
British love so dearly, are especially delectable. 

It is best to have breakfast before landing in San¬ 
tiago, for Yellow Jack is ever on the outlook for 
fresh blood to pollute, and fresh victims to destroy. 
He hides among the poor overburdened brutes of 
oxen that all day long in the broiling heat and un¬ 
savoury odours of the shore, toil with rings in their 
noses at dragging drays, timber-laden, into the 
shallow water, where boats meet them to load up 
for the ships in the offing. And Yellow Jack lurks 
also in the corners of many a wretched, tumble- 


26 o 


Fighting For Cuba 

down shanty, and in the fearfully filthy lanes that 
without any such thing as a side-walk, do duty as 
streets. And he floats in the dust that rises under 
the feet of the population or in wet weather swims 
in the pools and hollows of the roads. But Jack, I 
know from experience, keeps clear of young fellows 
who have had a soul-and-nerve strengthening bath 
in the morning, followed by an excellent and sub¬ 
stantial breakfast. 

Well, once safely on shore, you will find much 
that is new, much that is droll, but hardly a sign of 
modern civilisation. 

Yet behold! here is a carriage waiting for you. 
It is called a volante or flier. You may be inclined 
to call it a buggy or hansom even, if you want to 
feel grand. Two wheels, two shafts, two dispirited 
nags tandem-fashion, and on the front a wee 
“ de’il ” in a crimson or orange jacket and wearing 
spurs of a brutally punishing kind that as he whoops 
he digs into his nag and away you jolt. Into holes 
and out of holes, choked with dust or bespattered 
with mud, up the hill, up, up and away. 

Everything is so droll that you hardly mind the 
inconvenience, and if you do want to make a pur¬ 
chase at a morsel of a shop, the proprietor will 
bring all his wares out to display them before you, 
if you so choose. 

If you happen to reach the top of the hill safely, 
you will take a rest as you gaze below on the queer 
roofs of the city, far down beneath your feet. Then, 


Bottling up the Don 261 

having nothing particular to do, and plenty of time 
to do it in, you have a stroll in and around the old 
Cathedral. 

This is as droll as anything else, because when 
you enter you find no seats and if, after the jolting 
you received in that volante, you want to rest in 
the cool, why down you have got to squat on the 
marble deck, unless you care to take off your jacket 
and sit on that. 

Not far off, you may find alongside you Spanish 
men-o’-war sailors in their straw hats, jackets of blue, 
and canvas trowsers, swaggering and saucy and 
talking English perhaps to Englishmen or Italian 
to Italian seamen. Soldiers also you will meet 
everywhere. Swarthy, small, lithe, but horridly 

ugly- 

Or you may have luncheon at a restaurant; 
savoury, but not over-nice, and there seems to be a 
suspicion of garlic in every dish. 

The bells appear to be ringing from here, there 
and everywhere all day long, while priests counting 
their beads and nuns in deathlike black, go scurry¬ 
ing hither and thither on their errands of mercy. 
And everywhere, too, you see young fellows squat¬ 
ting, card-playing and gambling on street-corners. 

Yonder, high on the hill is the prison. Ah! dark 
indeed and terrible is life in there, and it needs but 
a word or a complaint from a neighbour, whether 
truthful or not, to clap a man into the dungeons of 
this awful bastile. A London burglar would find a 


262 


Fighting For Cuba 


way to free himself in a few hours, but the poor 
Cuban does not or cannot, and, worse fortune! he 
may be forgotten. He may have been put in for a 
short sentence, but no reliable records being kept 
this may extend to a “ lifer.” 

The soldiers at military mess would amuse you, 
so gay, so saucy and so swagger do they look. 

The cows are driven from door to door, or into 
the courtyards to be milked, so adulteration is un¬ 
known. 

You will find the best houses, at all events, built 
round courtyards, and some of these latter are very 
beautiful and filled with rockeries, ferns, palms, flow¬ 
ers and fountains. 

In the evenings, however, the city becomes very 
gay, and if you are at all curious you can see Cuban 
and Spanish domestic life without stint, for the 
open fronts afford you a peep right inside the 
houses. 

The girls you notice on the brilliantly lighted 
plaza listening to the band are—many of them— 
very pretty and piquant, and I may finish this im¬ 
perfect description by saying that if Santiago had 
better sanitary arrangements and therefore fewer 
awful heart-sickening odours, there would be a good 
deal of romance about it. 

The population, making a rough guess, would be 
about 70,000 before the war. 

The hills and mountains behind and on each side 
abound in mineral wealth, and now that the Amer- 


Bottling up the Don 263 

icans have it—I am writing these lines in 1899_ 

this will speedily be developed. 

Tumble-down Santiago will become a thing of 
the past, handsome streets, quays, plazas and 
squares will take the place of dirty, grubby lanes, 
and Yellow Jack himself, will have to try to find 
quarters somewhere else. 




CHAPTER X 

44 The first scrimmage on Cuban soil " 

“ We’ve all got board of the Gussie again, 

And over the water fly fleet. 

Well I’m rammed if I like it, because, don’t you see, 
The Spaniels will call it ‘ defeat.’ ”— Jack's Lament. 

The bold Bonito, as those on board Adeane’s 
yacht always called her, was lying at or near 
Tampa, one Thursday morning in May, and Father 
McDowney with our friend Dr. Ramsay were 
walking rapidly up and down under the awning 
waiting till the gong roared out that should sum¬ 
mon them to breakfast. 

The sun was not very high above the horizon 
yet, so the real heat of the day hadn’t yet begun. 
But there was real heat in that Irish priest’s brave 
heart, nevertheless. 

“ And why don’t you go ? ” said Ramsay, at last, 
stopping suddenly and confronting McDowney. 
“We don’t want to lose you, mind, but Adeane is 
such a brick, he would not mind letting you have a 
holiday. Well, Colonel Dorset is also a kindly- 
faced man and I’m sure you would soon get his 
consent.” 

“ Bedad ! then I’ll think of it! ” 

264 



" The first scrimmage on Cuban soil" 265 

“ There isn’t much time; the expedition sails to¬ 
night and finally from Key West to-morrow.” 

u What! on a Friday ? I’ll not go. Sure noth¬ 
ing but ill-luck would follow us.” 

“ Don’t be superstitious, father. If the Yankees 
are going to be worsted won’t there be some 
wounded and dying, and wouldn’t they be glad of 
your holy comfort ? ” 

“ True, true.” 

Aileen herself, looking prettier than ever, now 
came on deck for a romp with Charlie and Cheese, 
and there was half an hour of as genuine fun as 
anyone could wish to see. 

Then breakfast and afterward an interview with 
Captain Adeane, and finally an interview with 
Dorset were obtained. 

Dorset was very busy and everything was just 
about ready for the start. But he had time to wel¬ 
come Father McDowney and bid him do as he 
pleased, and make himself at home. 

The decks were crammed with soldiers. The 
decks of the Gussie, I mean. Not a warlike name. 
Not a morsel of romance about it. She was an 
old-fashioned paddler, and one shell between wind 
and water would have made her acquainted with 
Davy Jones’ locker. 

But she was off on a bold mission. 

In Scotland, early on New Year’s day morning, 
the first person who arrives from any distance at a 
farm or mansion, is called first foot. If he is a 


266 


Fighting For Cuba 

good fellow he will bring luck to the place, for all 
the year around; if not so good, evil or death may 
follow his visit. 

Well, the expedition now sailing was to be 
“ first foot,” in a manner of speaking, to Cuba and 
the Cubans. She was going to land soldiers there 
to assist the insurgents to make it hot for the Dons 
and she carried large stores of arms and ammuni¬ 
tion. With the business end of the rifles it was 
hoped the Spanish soldiers would soon form an ac¬ 
quaintanceship though not of a lasting character. 

Moreover the gallant Gussie had about £1,000,000 
on board to assist the downtrodden Cubans. 

As the paddler passed the Bonito the rigging was 
manned—even Aileen being among the rest, waving 
her straw hat, while her long, dark hair floated out 
on the breeze. 

They could see the priest on the paddle-box. A 
man held Charlie up to see him also, and the poor 
dog barked till he was hoarser than usual. 

But what ringing cheers were given and returned, 
to be sure! They were heart-stirring. So much so 
that poor little Aileen was crying and had to pre¬ 
tend to be cuddling down low over Charlie to hide 
her tears from the doctor. But he carried her aft 
and did his best to comfort her, though she cried a 
little and said she felt sure she should never, never 
see dear old Father McDowney any more. 

But you and I, reader, must leave the Bonito and 
follow the expedition. 


44 The first scrimmage on Cuban soil '' 267 

As arranged, luck or not luck, the Gussie, with 
the brave souls on board her and the one Gatling 
gun, sailed on Friday evening, escorted by the 
“ Manning,” and steamed right down South Havana 
way. 

Along the coast here a warship or gunboat called 
the “Wasp” was cruising, and she also gave the 
Gussie a convoy westward from Havana. 

From the bridge along the coast of Pinar del Rio, 
which they hugged despite the fact that Spaniards 
took pot shots at them, they could see many signs 
of the insurrectionary war, and the devastating 
policy of the Dons, fields laid waste by fire, roofless 
cottages and burned mills. 

It was evident enough to all hands that the Gus- 
sie’s movements were being well watched and her 
intentions suspected. 

They saw many cavalry on shore, riding reck¬ 
lessly along a broad red road over a rugged coun¬ 
try with cliffs and hills, moving inland, and rising 
skyward till they joined a range of lofty forest-clad 
mountains. 

They reached Arlolitos cape at last, however, 
and here, with their guides, they determined to land 
their braves,—likewise the “ brass.” 

Two great boats were called away, and with a 
farewell cheer, off they dashed on their daring en¬ 
terprise. A long line of breaking water was roaring 
and tumbling inshore on a coral reef, but the boats 
rushed the gap, Captain O’Connel dashing on first. 


268 


Fighting For Cuba 

Lieutenant Crafton, however, was, I believe, 
the real “ first foot,” the other boat’s crew landing 
some distance to the west of the point. 

The invaders had hardly expected resistance, but 
skirmishers were thrown out and disappeared in the 
jungle, then firing was heard, and meanwhile a 
company of guerillas suddenly appeared and at¬ 
tacked those that remained. They had a warm 
welcome, and four fell dead and the rest beat a 
hasty and panic-stricken retreat. 

Colonel Dorsat considered the position very crit¬ 
ical, and, leaving his expedition to show a bold 
front if attacked, went back in his boat to the Gus- 
sie, apprising also the Wasp and the Manning of 
the danger. 

Back now to the shore. 

The vessels opened a rapid fire, and, aided by the 
troops and the one Gatling gun, soon cleared the 
jungle. The brave Cuban scouts landed—swam on 
shore with their horses, in fact—and after disap¬ 
pearing in the bush, commenced their terribly dan¬ 
gerous journey inland toward the mountains where 
was the camp of a Cuban insurgent. 

The boats were now recalled, and next day the 
Gussie, with her convoys, started for Baracoa. 

Many strange incidents and adventures fell to 
the lot of the Gussie, only one of which need be 
mentioned here. This was the landing of a Cuban 
scout, called Ambrosito, on the Matanzas coast, 
and his mission was to carry word to the insurgents 


" The first scrimmage on Cuban soil ” 269 

among yonder hills, and to tell them of the arrival 
of help. 

Ambrosito did not like the honour. 

He was too stout, he said, to crawl for miles 
through the grass on his stomach; the bush was 
alive with the accursed spiders of Spanish soldiers. 
He had no great desire to die and be turned inside 
out. 

But the man determined at last to risk his life, 
and was landed from the Manning. 

On his first refusal, Father McDowney had 
sprung forward and bravely offered his services. 

“I’B go, colonel,” he cried. “I’ll go and shame 
this cowardly Cuban.” 

“ Ho, you shall not,” said Ambrosito. “ What! 
is it that you, holy father,,should die for a crea¬ 
ture like me? Ho, no, no.” 

The Gussie steamed about all night, and lo! next 
morning back came the scout, with a terrible story. 

“ All the Spaniards in Cuba are in the grass, their 
lights flashing like fire-flies, so here I am—thank 
our Heavenly Father—safe and sound.” 

And so this daring little expedition proved a fail¬ 
ure after all. 

The priest didn’t see any fighting, and neither 
the stores nor specie could be landed without fall¬ 
ing into the hands of the enemy. 

The Dons recorded this as a great battle and re¬ 
pulse of the Americanos, with ever so much slaugh¬ 
ter, and there were rejoicings in Madrid accordingly. 


270 


Fighting For Cuba 


So back again northwards over the blue and spark¬ 
ling sea went the Gussie, and in due time reached 
Key West. 

“ Back again,” were the very words Father Mc- 
Downey uttered when, a few days later, he scram¬ 
bled up the side of the Bonito and stood on deck, 
Charlie Chat scolding him in a series of hoarse 
barks, and Aileen clinging to his hand while she 
danced for joy. 

“ Back again, Captain Adeane, with my finger in 
my mouth! ” 


CHAPTER XI 
Hobson's Choice 

“And there were giants in those days.” 

—Holy Writ. 

“.And who shall place a limit to the giant’s un¬ 

chained strength, or curb his swiftness in the forward race.” 

— Bryant. 

Yes, there were giants in Biblical times, and 
there are giants still. I do not refer to your tall 
and probably athletic men, but to giants in mental 
capacity, in pluck and in courage. And it is war 
that always lifts men like these high above their 
comrades’ heads, and far out of their modest ob¬ 
scurity. I could write a whole book on the doings 
of heroes of this kind, and a dashing, thrilling one it 
would undoubtedly be. 

I have no such intention this year, at all events; 
still I should be doing less than my duty did I not 
mention one or two men connected with the Amer¬ 
ican Navy about Santiago, and this brief epitome of 
the war for humanity’s sake, would hardly be com¬ 
plete without such record. 

I must tell you right away then that I consider 
Schley behaved like a moral giant and a hero. He 
had already ascertained the strength of the bottled 

271 



272 


Fighting For Cuba 


up Cervera, but those fortifications worried him a 
little, and so on the last day of May, he bravely 
stood in toward the entrance to the gulf with the 
Iowa and the Massachusetts battle-ships, and with 
a cruiser called the New Orleans. 

They found the Cristobal Colon—a Don’s man-o’- 
war—not more than a mile from Morro fort, and 
fired at her, without perhaps doing much harm ex¬ 
cept frightening the enemy. 

He stood, on the next round, even closer in, and 
proudly defied the forts, but drew their fire. This 
is what he wanted to do, and as they poured their 
shot and shell on or toward him, he stood coolly by 
the fore turret. He could thus count six forts in 
all, and moreover, satisfied himself that Cervera 
was indeed safely bottled up. Then he quietly 
withdrew. 

This was of course another great victory for the 
Dons, and Madrid newspapers had wonderful head¬ 
ings as before. 

Attempt to Enter Santiago. 

Awful Cannonade of the Forts. 

Intrepidity of the Spanish Gunners. 

American Fleet Badly Damaged and 
Driven Off. 

Brave Deeds by Two Torpedo Boats. 

This latter heading bore reference to two belong¬ 
ing to the Dons, that at midnight rushed out from 


Hobson’s Choice 273 

the passage, and made a really bold attempt to sink 
the Texas. But they were heard. Yankee sentries 
have quick ears. The search-lights were turned on, 
and a shower of iron hail from the rapid firers made 
the Spanish torpedists sick and sorry they had 
come. 

Should I not include Colonel Dorsat of the Gus- 
sie, in my little list of giants ? I think I may, for 
he was not satisfied with the Gussie expedition al¬ 
ready mentioned, and thought he would like to try 
again. This time, the steamer Florida, with 100 
American troops and 300 brave Cubans, started for 
Point Banes, and though two gunboats were not 
far away, did succeed in landing the soldiers, the 
stores and the ammunition, assisted by not only the 
insurgents, but by hundreds of hungry Pacificos. 

Bravo, good Dorsat. I want my boy readers to 
know and to love such daring men as you! 

But I think that the deed done by Hobson and 
his gallant comrades—chosen by himself mind—far 
eclipses anything else that occurred during this 
short but terrible war. 

I must tell the story in the simplest language, 
and part of it I promise shall be an epitome of the 
hero’s own account. 

The Spanish fleet then was bottled in the bay, 
but there was no cork in that bottle, and from its 
neck, as Admiral Sampson, who with the Hew 
York, the Oregon and Mayflower, had arrived on 
June 1st, and taken the whole command, said tor- 


2 74 


Fighting For Cuba 


pedo boats would be constantly coming out and 
annoying the great American fleet. Perhaps even 
Cervera himself would get away. 

Sampson and Schley felt sure enough they could 
make short work with the Don’s fleet if it did ap¬ 
pear, but would it not be better to “catch ’em 
alive ” and add them to the American navy. 

Then arose the hero Hobson. He came forward 
modestly, with his heart on his sleeve and his life 
in his hand. “ Give me the collier Merrimac, yon¬ 
der,” he said, “ with a few brave fellows, and I will 
sink her across the exit from the bay, and no more 
will be heard about Cervera till he comes to place 
his sword in your hands, sir.” 

It was with considerable reluctance that Samp¬ 
son at last consented. 

Volunteers were called for. Why, the whole 
navy would have gone with Hobson, our brave 
young Ted amongst them. But he did not have 
the luck, and Hobson’s choice fell upon Dan Mon¬ 
tague, master-at-arms, of the Hew York; Charette, a 
gunner’s mate; a coxswain of the Iowa, and four of 
the crew of the collier Merrimac, Deignan, Phillips 
and Kelly. 

It was on a dark morning—Jhe 3rd of June be¬ 
twixt two and three A. m., that the Merrimac left 
the fleet and steered straight for the mouth of the 
gulf, soon disappearing under the still denser dark¬ 
ness of the mountain shadows. 

“ Shall we ever see the brave young fellows 


Hobson's Choice 275 

again ? ” This was the question uppermost I be¬ 
lieve in the minds of all. 

Ted McCoy was greatly disappointed that he 
had not been permitted to go. 

But shortly before the Merrimac left, a man older 
than himself and quite a friend, had touched him 
on the sleeve. 

“ Teddy! ” he said, quietly. 

“ That’s me,” said Teddy. “ Hallo, Harry, is it 
yourself?” 

“Yes,” was the reply, “and I’m going on the 
Merrimac. I want to have something to tell my 
sweetheart when I go home.” 

“ But you haven’t been chosen, Harry.” 

“Ho, I’ll slip over the side and stow away. 
Come.” 

The temptation was great, but Ted managed to 
resist it. 

“Don’t ask me again,Harry Clausen; I’d fall, 
and my fall would vex my good friend Commodore 
Schley. Mind I don’t set up for a plaster saint, 
but I can’t and will not go with you! ” 

“ Then good-bye, Ted, we may never meet again! ” 

“ Good-bye, bless you.” 

And Clausen really went as a stowaway. Soon 
after the Merrimac got to the entrance, a tremen¬ 
dous fire was opened from the forts, and the marvel 
is that the collier was not sunk at once. 

A launch had followed her and saw torpedoes 
exploded. Powell, her commander, lay in the 


Fighting For Cuba 


276 

shadow of the rocks till the crimson sun shone over 
the eastern hills and forests; then he could see the 
spars of the Merrimac just appearing above water. 

Hobson had intended to sink her by means of 
torpedoes on board exploded by touching a button. 
They were all to leap at once overboard and swim 
to the dinghy attached by a long rope to the stern. 

The men were stripped for swimming, and all 
was ready, but lo ! at the last moment it was found 
that the dinghy was wrecked and the rudder shot 
away so that the vessel could not be laid across the 
channel. 

Hobson found, however, an old catamaran on 
the deck and this was attached to the taffrail by a 
long rope so that it should not sink with the ship. 

Fancy if you can, reader, doing all this under the 
continued fire of the forts and explosion of tor¬ 
pedoes, the glare of the flashing guns lighting up the 
water and rendering the Merrimac and its dare-die 
crew quite visible. 

And now the men were ordered to spring over¬ 
board at once. A brief spell was granted them to 
swim away from the ship or the suction would have 
taken them down. 

Then brave Hobson touched the button and 
sprang into the sea. 

That the lieutenant had a narrow escape it may 
well be seen, for the eddie sucked him back in spite 
of all his efforts, but now, to use his own words, 
“I turned and struck out for the catamaran or 


Hobson's Choice 277 

float which I could see dimly bobbing up and down 
over the sunken hull.” 

(The reader will remember that this catamaran— 
a species of raft made of cross beams or logs, in 
other words a floating grating—was fast by a long 
rope to the sunken ship.) 

“ The Merrimack masts,” he goes on, “ were 
plainly visible and I could see the heads of my 
seven men as they followed my example and made 
for the float also.” (Where was the poor stow¬ 
away? Gone down with the wreck?) “We had 
of course expected that the Spaniards would inves¬ 
tigate the wreck, but we had no idea that they 
would be at it so quickly as they were. Before we 
reached the float several boats rounded the bluff 
from the inside of the harbour. They had officers 
on board and several armed marines, and they 
searched the passage continuing to row backward 
and forward till morning. It was really only by 
good luck that we got to the float at all and we 
had hardly concealed ourselves when a boat with 
quite a large party was close beside us.” 

(The raft did not lie flat on the water. It verily 
looked as if Providence had interfered to save those 
poor brave fellows. Fortuna favet fortibus isn’t 
always the truest of mottoes to adopt, reader, but 
it comes pretty nigh to the truth as often as not. 
The raft’s rope was short, so it did not swing flat 
but was tilted and this allowed the men to crawl 
beneath and thus hide themselves with their heads 


Fighting For Cuba 


278 

out of the water and hanging on to the bars of the 
raft above. Fancy, if you can, what a position to 
be in all throughout those dark and dreary morning 
hours.) 

“ None of us,” says Hobson, “ expected to get out 
of the affair alive, but evidently the Spaniards never 
thought of examining this half-sunken catamaran, 
though they came within a cable’s length of us 
every few minutes all night long.” 

(No doubt, in the excitement of what they consid¬ 
ered a victory—believing that it was their own fire 
which had sunk this ship—they would have mur¬ 
dered the poor fellows at once had they discovered 
them. But there was still that 

**. . . . Sweet little cherub that sits up aloft 

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.”) 

“ We were afraid to speak above a whisper. . 

. . After we had been here an hour or two the 

water began to grow cold and my fingers ached 
where the wood was pressing into them. 

“ The clouds now blew over and we could, in the 
starlight, see the boats distinctly and hear the 
splashing of the oars. 

“ Then our teeth began to chatter, and I was in 
constant dread that the Dons might hear even this 
when they came close up to us. 

“ One of my men at last disobeyed orders and 
started to swim on shore,, and I had to call him 
back. 


Hobson's Choice 279 

“ I thought my voice would assuredly be heard. 
It was not, and the boats swept away into the 
shadow of the hills once more. 

“At last daylight began to appear and now a 
boat, full of officers and armed marines came from 
behind a cliff. I understood from their talking that 
they came from the fleet and was pleased, for I have 
far greater faith in a sailor than in a soldier. 

“ Then I hailed her. 

“ The marines stood by to fire at the word of 
command ! ” (But superstition must have affected 
them, and the dread of the unknown, which is so 
terrible a factor in the religions of half-civilised 
countries, for they backed off quite a quarter of a 
mile. It was the voice of the drowned they had 
heard assuredly!) 

Continuing his narrative, brave Hobson tells us 
that he now launched forth breast and side stroke 
for that boat, and the men waited—for death or de¬ 
livery. After hailing once more and shouting as 
well as his quavering voice would permit, that he 
had seven men to surrender, Hobson was hauled on 
board by Cervera himself. 

“ My treatment by the naval officers and that of 
my men was courteous all the time we were pris¬ 
oners.” 

Well, good wine needs no bush to make it effer¬ 
vesce, nor does a good and true story like that of 
Hobson need any comment of mine to cause its bet¬ 
ter appreciation. 


28 o 


Fighting For Cuba 

It is due, however, to Cervera and the Spaniards 
as a brave though old-fashioned nation, to say that 
the admiral treated his prisoners well, telling them 
that since the days of ancient Rome no bolder deed 
had ever been done. Moreover he sent Captain 
Ovideo with a flag of truce to the New York to say 
that the admiral of the Spanish fleet was most pro¬ 
foundly impressed with the brilliant courage of the 
men who sank the Merrimac, that they were alive 
and bar two slightly injured, were in good health 
and well cared for. 

Schley afterward, while talking to a press corre¬ 
spondent in the hearing of his men, pointed toward 
Morro Castle where the prisoners were, and with 
never a sigh of braggadocio in his calm voice, said, 
“ History does not record an act of finer heroism 
than that performed by the gallant men who are 
prisoners over yonder. They went into the very 
jaws of death. It was Balaklava over again with¬ 
out the means of defence that the Light Brigade 
possessed, for Hobson led a forlorn hope without 
the means to cut himself out. His name will live 
so long as the heroes of this world are remem¬ 
bered ! ” 

“ Amen! ” 

And these prisoners saw all the terrible bombard¬ 
ment that followed. That in itself would make a 
story well worth reading or listening to. 

Hobson, I may tell you, comes from a long line 
of illustrious ancestors, who were forever foremost 


Hobson's Choice 


281 

during peace or during red-handed war. I, myself, 
am not much of a believer in heredity, and love 
most dearly the boy who can cut out his own ca¬ 
reer, who can open the world with his sword as if 
it were an oyster. This is the lad for me! 

But as a boy Dick Hobson was quiet, thoughtful, 
yet brave even to intrepidity. 

God send Britain and America many Hobsons on 
the day of battle and time of need. 

Some snivelling writer says that it is “ opportunity 
that makes the man.” 

Ho, boys, no. The man is made before, and all 
that opportunity can do is to give him an inning. 
He’ll make his own score. 


CHAPTER XII 


With Roosevelt's Rough Riders—Dess and 
Beaver 

“ The bugle call has sounded : it is ‘ forward march ! ’ and then 
The shouting of the captains, and the cheering of the men, 

The storming of the ramparts—the victory—the retreat 
While April rains fall crimson on hills and valley sweet. 

" The bugle call has sounded, and forth they rush to fight; 

But ’neath the stars—the flag’s red bars—are faces cold and white, 
And some shall come in glory;—but hearts in vain shall beat 
Through long, long years of loneliness for unreturning feet.” 

— Anon. 

The landing of the volunteers at Siboney and the 
skirmishes and fights they had on hills, in bush and 
in forest, form a page of history in themselves, which 
I trust many boys will turn to and read with avidity. 
Fiction is good and makes, in my opinion, an excel¬ 
lent background on which to paint historical facts 
—as witness the stories of my great ancestor, Sir 
Walter Scott—but there are lads—and many more 
may they be—who prefer their facts all undiluted. 
To them I commend the history of the American- 
Spanish war, which, by the way, will not be com¬ 
pleted until complete order is restored to distracted 
and bewildered Luzon in the far Philippines. 

Well, now, though I, myself naturally love ships 

282 


With Roosevelt's Rough Riders 283 

and sailors, I must confess to having a penchant for 
deeds of daring done on shore, especially for those of 
horsemen. 

I have given some of those connected with the 
doings of the Cubans, cowboys who were really the 
first rough riders who showed the effete Dons what 
dash and pluck—allied with good physique—could 
do. 

But Roosevelt’s horse—as horse, were not really 
engaged—Roosevelt and his merry men were, 
though. 

The enemy, after the fighting at Siboney, re¬ 
treated on a place called Sevilla (pronounce Say- 
veel-ya). 

Siboney is less than twenty miles from Santiago 
—the Santiago—and the voyage of the troops, con¬ 
voyed so carefully to this place, by men-of-war, was 
indeed a romantic one. 

The landing and fighting afterward was no fun, 
I can assure you. General Shafter sent for the 
Red Cross people—veritable saints are these in war 
—to come up with all speed. 

At Siboney it was raining or drizzling hard, when 
these good souls arrived, and it was night. 

The wounded lay in the trenches, but could hardly 
be cared for, not even in the matter of food, be¬ 
cause wet brushwood makes but a poor fire. 

When these were carried in, it is said that their 
condition was sad and terrible. Their clothes were 
soaked with blood and rain and caked with mud 


284 Fighting For Cuba 

and filth; and without shelter, with few surgeons, 
and little clothing, moaning and groaning they lay—• 
in rows on the wet soil—while soup was being pre¬ 
pared. “ Moaning and groaning,” I say, but it was 
pain that forced such expressions from them, espe¬ 
cially when they dosed off a bit. While wide 
awake there was ne’er a murmur of impatience, 
yet many wanted much to know how their com¬ 
rades in the front were getting on. 

Well, the rough riders, minus their horses were 
following up the foe, while the insurgent Cubans, 
rifles in hand, watched every road among the hills, 
prepared to give the Dons a hot breakfast as soon 
as their unkempt heads appeared. 

There were two roads, but both were watched. 
One of these led over the hills, another along the 
base, and the rough riders took the steepest. They 
were heavily equipped and carried enough car¬ 
tridges to treat the Dons to a taste of that death 
which for years they had been dealing out so lib¬ 
erally to brave men, helpless women and innocent 
babes. 

So great was the heat and the toil that during 
the day we find that those American western ath¬ 
letes emptied their canteens and threw away every¬ 
thing save rifles and cartridges. 

How he had managed to get there I cannot quite 
say—though I can guess—Father McDowney him¬ 
self, with sword and rifle, nothing sacerdotal about 
him except that broad-brimmed hat, was in the 


With Roosevelt's Rough Riders 285 

front ranks of the rough riders, or rather, I should 
say, the first files, for so bad was the bush-lined 
path that the brave fellows had to march mostly in 
1 string. 

They found the Spaniards five miles up, and 
back, and then the fighting began in earnest. 

But this was an ambush, and men and officers 
began to fall dead or wounded in all directions. 

There never was a thought of retreating, how¬ 
ever. A charge alone could save life and honour. 

Koosevelt led the way in open order, and Wood, 
with Brodie, led on the other side, but Wood soon 
fell, and so, too, did McClintock. 

There was a blockhouse up yonder, and the Ameri¬ 
can cowboys meant to have it, no matter what price 
they should have to pay. 

Up came reserves, and with shout and cheer, the 
honest Irish priest yelling with the best—on they 
dashed. 

“ God and our right! ” cried McDowney. 

“ Kemember the Maine, boys.” 

Such is only a specimen of the battle cries, but 
at close quarters all was grim fighting and hardly a 
battle cry was heard. 

For two whole hours this battle against an all- 
but unseen foe raged on, both on the hill and at the 
foot, with Young’s corps. 

Then once more fortuna fa/vet fortibus and the 
enemy retreats leaving their dead and wounded in 
the bush. 


286 


Fighting For Cuba 


The coolness and intrepidity of the invaders, all 
throughout this hard-fought battle, is beyond praise, 
and it is no wonder that the Dons said afterward 
that it was not men they had been fighting, but 
—devils incarnate. 

Commenting on this battle, General Wheeler re¬ 
ported that it inspired the American troops and 
rendered the enemy almost hopeless. It also gave 
them the beautiful, well-watered country where 
they speedily formed encampments within sight of 
Santiago, enabling them to make reconnaissances 
close up to its very walls. 

As for our hero. Father McDowney, the best I 
can say, is this, he was just as busy assisting the 
doctors after the battle and whispering words of 
comfort to the dying, as he had been brave and in¬ 
trepid while under fire. 

****** 

Well, this plucky fight on what an Aberdeen- 
American called “ The braes abeen Siboney,” led or 
cleared the way to a bigger battle—namely, that 
of Santiago. 

And to this well-contested field I must now ask 
the reader to accompany me. 

First to the fleets, however, that lie yonder in 
terrible array, ready for any emergency, their crews 
longing to belch fire and death on the devoted 
city, and on the Spanish fleet, should it dare to 
attempt an exit. 


With Roosevelt's Rough Riders 287 

Look beyond them, and as we leave the shores of 
Cuba with their coral sands, we can see on the dis¬ 
tant horizon smoke rising and trailing along the 
blue sea. 

That is Captain Adeane’s yacht, the brave Bonito. 
Many a little service she has been enabled to per¬ 
form for the fleet, and now he is bound back to the 
New York with messages from Key West which I 
care not here to divulge. 

Only let me tell you one thing: the millionaire’s 
son, our fiery hero, Desmond, has asked his admiral 
for a furlough. 

The good old sailor looks at him with some de¬ 
gree of mute surprise, but a smile breaks over his 
face as he answers: 

“ What! a furlough in front of the foe! ” 

“ Ah! but, sir,” says Dess, “ I want to spend the 
few days you allow me, on shore, and much nearer 
to the front of the foe. 

“Kindly remember, admiral, that I have a ven¬ 
detta to seek and work out against those shirtless 
Dons. They burnt our hacienda and they slew my 
good friend Hodson.” 

“ Go—go—lad.” 

“ And may I take our Beaver with us ? ” 

“Well—yes again. I daresay his absence won’t 
cause our ships to sink.” 

When Dess and Beaver were pulled off to the 
Bonito and stood on the quarter-deck, they received 
a right hearty welcome indeed, from all hands. 


288 


Fighting For Cuba 

For the men crowded on deck and gave three roar 
ing, rattling cheers. 

That evening, Beaver, who was nothing unless a 
cheeky young sailor, drew Dess aside. 

“ I’m in love,” he said, “ and I don’t mind telling 
you.” 

“ In love, Beaver boy ? ” 

“ I’m not a boy now. I was a boy yesterday, but 
to-day I am a man” 

“Well I only hope that Charlie Chat reciprocates 
your affection. It is the bulldog, of course ? ” 

“Come down out of the top will you? You 
know well enough it is Aileen, your sweetly charm¬ 
ing sister, I mean.” 

“ Sweetly charming sister. Eh. Ha! I daresay 
she is all right as regards looks. Have you told 
her?” 

“ Oh no, I wouldn’t dare. Perhaps my looks 
have betrayed me! ” 

“Well, Beaver, old man , don’t let them and don’t 
say a word to her or any other soul, for to tell you 
the honest truth, her affections, if she ain’t too 
young to have any, belong to another.” 

“ And who may I ask is-” 

“ O, I’ll tell you that too: he is a warrant officer 
on the Brooklyn and only just promoted from able- 
seaman.” 

“ Ha! ha! ha! ” laughed Beaver, right heartily* 
“ ha ! ha! ha! what a prodigious joke! A million¬ 
aire’s daughter in love with an ordinary blue- 


With Roosevelt's Rough Riders 289 

jacket. Shake, Dess! You always were fond of fun, 
but you have given me hope. I’m going to write to 
my mother, and just tell her what is likely to hap¬ 
pen when the cruel war is over.” 

“ Likely or unlikely, we’ll always be friends, won’t 
we, Beaver ? ” 

“ Till cold death puts a finger in the pie.” 

The young fellows shook hands, but Desmond 
had reason to remember those words not long 
after. 


****** 

This evening and several more to follow were 
spent pleasantly enough on board the Bonito. To 
say nothing of the days. 

Charlie Chat and Cheese had never felt in finer 
form, and their gambols made all hands laugh, 
especially Beaver. 

But this brave young sailor’s tune changed when 
Charlie, looking awfully full of business, came 
dragging the apparently lifeless Cheese by her sonsy 
tail toward the quarter-deck. 

“O dear,” he cried, “I am indeed sorry and 
shocked; I wish this hadn’t— O ! Look ! ” 

He might well exclaim, “ O! Look! ” for at the 
very moment his sympathies were most deeply 
stirred, up sprang the dead cat and giving Charlie a 
droll little pat on his great jowl, sprang nimbly on 
to the capstan, leaving Charlie on deck to take it 
out in barking. 


290 Fighting For Cuba 

Beaver could sing a good song and did, and as 
Burns hath it, 

“ The nichts drave on wi* sangs and clatter-” 

But toward Beaver, though she treated him most 
kindly, for, was he not one of her brother’s dearest 
friends ?—Aileen was just a trifle reserved. 

Had she any suspicion as to the real nature of his 
feelings? Who can fathom a girl’s thoughts or 
measure her mental capacity for analysis and intui¬ 
tion. 

The day of days came at last however, and Dess 
bidding his father and Aileen an affectionate fare¬ 
well, to say nothing of the doctor who was envious 
because he could not accompany them, left the 
Bonito with his friend to join the army corps under 
General Shatter. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A Terrible Battle—Roosevelt on the Heights 
of San Juan—Strange Adventures 

“ Braver deeds were never done, 

Braver field was never won, 

Braver swords were never wet, 

With life’s red tide where heroes met.”— Aimer . 


In order to give anything like a complete 
description of a battle and siege such as that of 
Santiago I should require to have complete descrip¬ 
tions of what they saw and endured from a dozen 
soldier men at least. 

And if I had, I doubt if any two stories would be 
in any degree alike. 

I must follow my heroes the best way I can. 
And that on the morning of the advance, was a 
very helter-skelter one, indeed. 

But during the first landing of the troops in the 
wild and romantic little bay of Baiquiro, there 
were men, who, as they gazed ahead of them at 
the rugged mountains and tree-clad glens, sat dumb 
with amazement at the beauty of the scenery. 

Others made no attempt to conceal that they 
were far from easy in their minds. 


291 


292 


Fighting For Cuba 

“ Hans! ” said one, “ have we to climb yonder 
hills in front of an enemy ? ” 

“ Ay, don’t you like it ? ” 

“ I guess I don’t. Do you ? ” 

“No,” replied the other with beautiful candour. 
“ I reckon I’m just about as near being in a blue 
pink as ever I was in my life.” 

“Shouldn’t wonder if I turned and ran at the 
first rattle from the bush,” said a third soldier. 

“ Ha! ha! ha! ” and all laughed in merry unison. 
“Blanked if our joints ain’t all oiled with the 
same feather.” 

Yet those very men when on the field of Santiago 
behaved with splendid courage. 

One of them—the last speaker—had the sleeve 
of his coat ripped up with a Mauser bullet and his 
arm pierced through the triceps. 

Down he rolled, and couldn’t fight again, but 
when the surgeon saw to his scratch, as the man 
called it, after he had lain bleeding for over an 
hour, he had a mouthful of coffee with brandy or 
old rye in it and nobly crawled back to assist in 
attending to the fellow-men in the rear. 

That was a brave deed which Lieutenant Blue— 
a navy man and therefore true blue—performed! 
He went scouting all alone, and did a journey of 
over sixty miles round the city, sometimes being 
close up to the enemy’s batteries. From his 
elevated situation he caught a glorious glimpse of 
the bay and took back with him the number of the 


A Terrible Battle 


2 93 

Spanish fleet, and shipping in general, and told 
what he had seen of the Dons’ and Cubans’ flght- 
ing. 

“ Blowed if they didn’t seem jolly well afraid of 
each other,” he said. “Well, the Cubans did 
knock a Spaniel heels over tip now and then, but it 
seems to me that the bushes suffered more than the 
insurgents from the fire of the Dons. I wouldn’t 
have been a bush for quite a deal.” 

“ There is never any good, boys,” said Father 
McDowney to Desmond and Beaver on the evening 
of June 30th, “ in thinking of a fight that’s ail before 
us. Saving your presence, youngsters, there’s no use 
in shaking hands with the divil at all, at all, until 
you’re right foreninst him. And then it’s my foot 
I’d be giving him. 

“ Scouts,” he added, “ have come in to tell us 
that the enemy have retreated up-hill a bit, and 
that every accessible part is trenched, that the 
Dons will never give in, and that it’s fighting an 
unseen foe we’ll be. Pooh ! what does it matter, so 
long as we fight him; the ugly face of him won’t 
scare us anyhow. Well, we have biscuit and 
coffee, beautiful bacon, and cocoanuts and limes, 
and if any of the two of you be wounded, it’s into 
a charming hospital you’ll be carried, and the Red 
Cross people will treat you as gently as if they 
were the mothers that bore you. 

“ Och! it’s wishing I had my fiddle here, I am. 
But roll up in your blankets, boys, for the night’s 


294 Fighting For Cuba 

getting cold, and mind you, sleep —an easy thing to 
do if ye say your prayers. Good-night, and the 
blessing of the Great Unseen be around you; for 
it’s soon enough you’ll be wakened in the morn¬ 
ing.” 

And that indeed was true. For as early as five, 
after a hasty breakfast the troops were in motion in 
all directions. 

Lawton, it would seem, went on after Capron’s 
battery of artillery. This last was to shell a fort 
not far from the city. Having reduced this, the 
orders were for General Chaffee to close in, and 
Ludlow, who was farther down the hill from the 
battery, to flank round on Chaffee’s left, while 
Miles’ troops kept close to both, and thus they 
hoped to drive the foe on toward the little town of 
Caney. 

Capron’s battery soon played havoc with the fort, 
and by eight o’clock, despite the desertion of the 
fortification and the terrible resistance of the 
Spaniards in trenches, the fight was well begun. 

But dearly indeed did the Americans have to pay 
for even this temporary success. 

Yet under shelter of their covered way the Dons 
fought like demons, while the Yanks fell dead or 
wounded in all directions. 

At twelve o’clock noon it was determined that an 
assault should take place. 

Like the British themselves, the Americans are 
splendid fellows in a bayonet charge. 


A Terrible Battle 


295 

Shortly after three o’clock, not only had the 
covered way become untenable, but Chaffee’s braves 
had left the woods beneath, and were swarming up 
the hill toward the stone fort on the north of 
Santiago. 

Strangely enough the Spanish standard was shot 
down about the same time and never more would it 
float on its proud position. Whether the enemy 
considered this a bad omen or not, I can not say. 

The Dons were now completely surrounded, 
though they still maintained a stern and terrible re¬ 
sistance. But even at this time in the afternoon it 
was evident that the Spaniards were being badly 
beaten, and that soon the Americans, though much 
worn out, and with their ranks terribly thinned, 
would be victors ; but the city would not fall into 
their hands for days to come, days of struggle and 
bloodshed, and toils bravely borne by an army who 
were really recruits, and who had never faced an 
angry foe before. 

Well, we must leave this portion of the wide and 
well-fought field of battle where deeds were done 
and positions stormed which no troops that ever I 
have seen saving the Scottish Highlanders have 
even attempted. 

I refer to the charge of the rough riders, under 
brave Roosevelt, who I am told was the only 
mounted man amongst them. 

There has never been a more brilliant charge 
than that made up the steep hills by those gallant 


296 Fighting For Cuba 

cowboys of the far West, with the exception per¬ 
haps of that of the Gordons of Dargai. 

I’m sure that my readers, both British and 
American, will pardon my saying so, when told that 
I am a Highlander, and that Gordon is my father’s 
clan. 

There were Don-crowded trenches on the top of 
the hill of San Juan and a fort. Boosevelt meant 
to take them and he did. 

Yes, it cost him dearly, but a real victory invari¬ 
ably does, and we all know that he did not spare 
himself. He was in front like a hero of the olden 
time, with bullets whistling around him all the 
while, but he really seemed to bear a charmed life. 

It is hardly credible yet it is true, that even after 
the capture by the rough riders of San Juan Hill 
and fort, at the expense of so many brave lives, a 
few of the leaders or chiefs of the American forces 
met to consider whether or not they ought to with¬ 
draw the troops from the heights. They had been 
winning, doing nothing but win in fact, and that too 
against fearful odds, oftentimes really fighting an 
unseen foe. Probably Shafter was a little tired and 
depression had followed the excitement. The 
Spaniards had retreated it is true, but the wounded 
and dead still dotted the hillsides and the medical 
and surgical staff were almost worn out. The 
Spaniards, despite their fierce valour and determined 
resistance, had retired, doubtless only to return 
redoubled in strength, for reinforcements to the 


A Terrible Battle 297 

number of 5,000 were but a day’s journey in their 
rear. The Americans had no artillery to speak of. 
Could they therefore hold the positions the}’' had 
gained ? What a sad, sad question! And yet it 
demanded reply. But to give up any single portion 
of the ground they had so nobly fought for, and won, 
might—ay, and would, have such a depressing effect 
upon the troops that it assuredly would end in 
panic, and if so in flight, demoralisation and dis¬ 
organisation of the whole force. Utter annihilation 
would follow or the American army should have to 
lay down its arms and submit to be made prisoners. 

The night that followed as far as the weather 
was concerned, was indeed beautiful. The moon 
shone full over hill and dell, and all around the 
scenery was like a dream. 

But there was but little sleep or dreaming either 
for the toil-worn Americans and most of the time 
was put in by relays of men digging trenches. 

They worked with heart, however, because the 
news had spread that Shafter was determined to 
hang on. 

Ah! there was a good deal of the British bull¬ 
dog about Shafter. He had the hold, who was 
going to choke him off ? 

But the Spaniards after all had endured enough 
in honour’s cause and were not sorry when an armis¬ 
tice was entered upon. 

The incidents, during this long and tiresome bat¬ 
tle—both sad and gay—are far too numerous to 


298 Fighting For Cuba 

mention. For, from a people like the Americans, 
you can not separate fun even during fighting, and 
strange to say the humourous and ludicrous in this 
world are all too often found in juxtaposition. 

But a word or two concerning our own three 
heroes engaged in this fight around Santiago. 

The good Father McDowney seemed really 
ubiquitous. He had carte blanche anyhow. For at 
one time he might have been seen, sword in hand, in 
the very thick of the fight, encouraging the men, 
and even leading them on to glory ; at another time 
during a lull, he was doing his duty with marvel¬ 
ous zeal or skill among the wounded, and the 
wounded men blessed him in whispers, and some¬ 
times, alas ! in that blessing the spirit passed away. 
His strength was enormous for his size, and in his 
own arms did he bear many a poor fellow to the 
rear after his wounds had been seen to, or under 
the trees out of the rays of the blazing sun. Again 
scudding across the open with the bullets ping-ping¬ 
ing, and zip-zipping around him, he was to be seen 
hurrying along toward a stream to fill a dozen of 
the men’s canteens with the luke-warm water and 
return with it, laughing heartily to see how eagerly 
the soldiers drank, and how much they enjoyed it. 

The only thing that did stagger the priest a little 
was watching the effects of the rapid-firing guns of 
the Spaniards, how the hail from their invisible 
muzzles—for no one was to be seen and it was im¬ 
possible to position those awful instruments of 


A Terrible Battle 


2 99 

modern warfare—swept here and there over the 
field, where men stood closest, mowing them down 
in little heaps as a farmer’s mower at home here 
may cut thistles or merryman tansies. 

Poor McDowney was bending down over a 
wounded man, when the hail from the rapid-firer 
came his way. A passing shower. A death squall, 
for it killed his man among others and all but 
wounded the priest. I say “ all but ” advisedly, for 
marvelous to say, the squall cut not only the tails 
of his coat off, but every morsel of clothing that 
covered a very useful portion of his anatomy a 
little lower down and behind. 

The priest naturally put round his left hand. 
Skin touched skin! 

There was no time to waste in useless lamenta¬ 
tion, however. He stretched out his dead cavalry¬ 
man and closed his eyes. 

“ Sleep, poor soul, sleep,” he said, “ and it’s some¬ 
one that will be missing you in your far-off western 
home. Sleep; the winds among the long, long 
grass and ten thousand murmuring flying things’ll 
sing your lullaby. Sleep, and it’s dacintly buried 
you’ll be when all the battle’s over, and the Dons 
have fled.” 

At this moment another wounded man crawled 
toward him. 

“We sent Jim Jackson with a string o’ canteens, 
but he hasn’t returned. The men in the bush up 
here are mostly sorely off! ” 


300 Fighting For Cuba 

“ Get under here,” cried the priest, “ or it’s killed 
you’ll be! ” 

Then off he ran toward the stream once more. 
He was astonished though to hear yells of laughter 
from the men whom he turned his back to, and in¬ 
deed his figure just then would have made a horse 
laugh. McDowney was equal to the occasion, how¬ 
ever, and off he pulled the wonderful broad- 
brimmed hat and though it was cut about a bit 
with bullets, when he clapped it round behind, 
and held it there, it did very excellent service in¬ 
deed. 

He put his hat on again though, when he reached 
the stream. No need for false modesty in the pres¬ 
ence of death. 

And here was Jim half in, half out of the 
stream, but dead enough. His canteens had been 
filled and the priest with a tear in his eye, now 
took them and placed them in a row, ready. 

Then he pulled Jim out of the water; his shoul¬ 
ders and head were emersed. 

He stretched him out as he had done so many 
others. 

Then, “Jim Jackson mavourneen,” he said, “I 
knew you well in life and it’s the kind-hearted boy 
you ever were. And now rest you lad; I’m going 
to borrow your trowsers. Ach ! there is no need 
of such garments in the land you’re going to. It’s 
with glory and love you’ll be clothed entirely.” 

When Father McDowney returned to the boys, 


A Terrible Battle 301 

he wasn’t ashamed to face them or to turn his back 
to them either. 

****** 

I do not like death scenes myself. So what I 
now have to tell shall be told in a few words. 

Beaver and Desmond had been with the rough 
riders, and had fought manfully and got safely 
enough to the fort and trenches. 

They were just about to enter when Desmond 
heard a short quick rap or thud—those who have 
been in action will know the sound well. He 
turned quickly round and was just in time to lower 
his messmate to the ground. 

Yes, Beaver was hit. 

Mortally wounded! Dess knew that at once 
from the pallor of his countenance. 

He beckoned to a rough rider—a man without 
a hat, disheveled in hair and wild-looking, his clothes 
besmeared with blood and clay. 

But a kindly heart beat beneath his coarse shirt 
and though wounded and battle-weary himself, he 
gladly assisted Desmond to carry his comrade into 
the trench. 

And there they laid him gently down and man¬ 
aged between them to bind up the wound in his 
chest. And beside him all the remainder of the 
afternoon Desmond sat. He thought not of food 
or refreshment. He was still there when the sun 
was setting red over yonder in the west behind a 
tree-fringed hilltop. 


3° 2 


Fighting For Cuba 


And when the moon rose and flooded the 
trenches with its heavenly light, Dess might have 
been seen, but in tears. 

Even the brave may weep. 

Yet gently he closed poor Beaver’s eyes. The 
boy had never spoken once since they laid him 
down. And now—well he would never speak 
again. 


CHAPTER XIV 


The Wanderers f return .— 44 See the conquering 
hero comes ! " 

“ The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour, 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”— Gray. 

“ See the conquering hero comes 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums.”— T. Morel. 

Poor Beaver slept in a soldier’s grave. 

A few days after Desmond had seen him laid to 
rest, he had an interview with Roosevelt himself, 
and begged that he might now be permitted to re¬ 
join the fleet. 

“ You may go, certainly,” said this kind-hearted 
and brave rough rider. “ I feel exceedingly sorry 
that just on the eve of victory you should have 
been plunged into such deep grief by the loss of 
your comrade. But do not forget that his was a 
death that thousands and thousands shall envy 
him. The brave lad laid down his life for America, 
the land he loved so dearly. Happy, I say, is he, 
who like Lochiel 

“ Shall, victor, exult or in death be laid low, 

With his back to the field and his feet to the foe; 

And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of * fame * ? ” 


303 


304 Fighting For Cuba 

“Good-bye, lad,” he continued, extending his 
hand which Desmond took reverently in his own— 
for every boy who is a boy—is a hero-worshipper. 
“ You have my sincerest sympathy. I have marked 
your own acts of bravery and shall not forget to re¬ 
port them to the right quarter.” 

“ A thousand thanks, sir, and may fortune ever 
favour you. Good-bye! ” 

Father McDowney himself accompanied Dess to 
the beach and in a boat to the New York. 

He had to assure his martial comrades, however, 
that he would return. And they gave the fighting 
priest a rousing cheer as he departed, throwing in 
another little one for the plucky young sailor, Dess. 

“Well,” said the priest, when they were once 
fairly out of danger, and away from all the sad 
sights, “let us sit down here and have dinner. 
Look at that lovely rippling stream; behold the 
mountains, the woods and forests and the blue and 
distant sea. Surely this is a country well worth 
fighting for! 

“ And you’ve seen a bit of real war, haven’t you, 
Dess ?” he added. 

“ And under a hero ! ” cried Desmond, with eyes 
that fairly scintillated with enthusiasm. 

“Wait till I dig the potatoes,” said McDowney, 
“and I’ll tell you a little more about your hero, 
Roosevelt. Light a fire till I return.” 

Desmond did as he was told, and by and by back 


The Wanderers' Return 305 

came the priest, his red handkerchief filled with 
sweet potatoes and luscious fruit. 

The potatoes were placed in the ashes and were 
soon cooked. Then he opened a kind of haversack 
he wore knapsack-fashion, and discovered a hunk of 
broiled bacon and biscuits in abundance. 

The two made a hearty meal. “ Thank God for 
that same,” said Father McDowney. 

“Your friend, Roosevelt,’’he said now, “is in¬ 
deed a hero, and never could have been anything 
else. 

“ But he began by conquering himself and his pas¬ 
sions and everything else. He had a good father, 
who taught him that idleness is a curse and that 
the boy who did nothing would come to nothing 
and have plenty of it, sure, when he swelled and 
grew into a man. 

“Well, did ye ever see a much finer man, Dess, 
lad?” 

“Ho indeed, father.” 

“ But as a mere boy he was boneless, white-faced, 
thin and nerveless. He was so weakly that he 
didn’t even play like other lads. 

“Well, somebody told him one day that if he did 
not go in for all kinds of exercise in the open air, 
he would never be a man at all, only a muff, like 
what ladies wear—God bless them all—to keep 
their fingers from the frost. Well, Desmond, you 
know that a muff is both soft and hollow and sorra 
a bit of brain has it at all, at all. 


Fighting For Cuba 


306 

“Young Roosevelt examined his mother’s muff 
very carefully one day. 

“ ‘ I’m not going to be a thing like that,’ he cried. 
“ I’ll make myself a man or die in the attempt.’ 

“He took now to helping his father with the 
farm. He knew the truth of the old saying, ‘ If a 
thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well.’ 

“Hard labour isn’t good exercise, however, be¬ 
cause it usually lacks the chief virtue—pleasantness. 
But Roosevelt took to riding, running, swimming 
and wandering here, there and everywhere among 
woods and wilds, studying the greatest of all books 
—bar the Bible, boy—the book of nature. 

“Ho wonder he grew up strong, brave and manly, 
ay and at Harvard College he came out bright. 

“ The history of his country he studied, too, and 
so altogether, instead of developing into a muff and 
softy, he was at the time he left the university just 
fit for anything, and a young man fit to lead a de¬ 
bate in the Senate or an army in the field. 

“Well, he has been very much in public life. He 
has been a member of the Legislature; a sturdy, 
brave and honest politician, and he was even candi¬ 
date for the mayoralty of New York. 

“ He became eventually leader of the rough riders, 
their captain and adored chief, a man whom I have 
heard many a brave soldier say he would follow 
him to—well, a worse and a warmer country than 
Cuba. 

“ He loved politics, mind you, Dess, but more than 


The Wanderers' Return 307 

all he loved a free western life and was at heart a 
real cowboy. 

“ He got away from the Legislature whenever he 
could; far, far away, too; westward, to the land of 
adventure and big game stalking. He built himself 
a log hut on the banks of the little Missouri, and 
was never more happy than when rounding up 
cattle with the cowboys, wearing a red flannel 
shirt with alligator boots, his lower garments inside 
them and a broad sombrero hat. You may fancy 
you see him on horseback rigged out like that, or 
far over the mountains dreary, or in woods and 
forests indefatigably following game or even 
fighting grizzlies. 

“ This, Desmond, is the merest epitome of his life. 
But, lad, it is the epitome of the life of a man. 

“ And now we must be going, my brave pupil, for 
long is the way and dangerous we have to traverse, 
and yonder sun mustn’t blush red till we’re both 
safe on board the New York, and you have reported 
yourself to Admiral Sampson.” 

Desmond and Father McDowney had more ad¬ 
ventures than one, however, before they got out to 
the fleet. They were just beginning to think they 
should have to stay all night in the bush among the 
fire-flies and the nasty inquisitive creepie-creepies, 
when they saw an American boat sweep round a 
corner, with her bows laid seaward. 

They shouted aloud and were heard. In a short 
time the boat was beached and these two war-worn 


308 Fighting For Cuba 

men—the young and the middle aged—were got on 
board. 

Desmond was delighted to find himself in the 
stern-sheets of a man-o’-war boat once again, with 
close beside him, who but young Ginger himself 
who had been sent on shore on business, and to 
whom he was just telling his adventures as the boat 
swept alongside. 

Sampson himself came forward to greet Dess and 
the priest. He had heard of poor Beaver’s death. 
But—it was the fortune of war. 

The appearance of Desmond’s uniform, or what 
remained of it, his tout en ensemble , in fact, was in 
no way prepossessing or fetching. But the priest’s 
rig out, covered as it was with clay and blood, with 
which even his face was besmeared, was ridiculous 
in the extreme. 

His coat without the tails, his short uniform 
trowsers, far too tight, and threatening to burst 
every minute; his dangling sword, his knapsack; 
all and everything were so comical that first the 
middies, then the men burst into one rattling volley 
of laughter, that Sampson himself was fain to join. 

But when it had become somewhat subdued, the 
brave admiral took the priest’s hat reverently from 
his head and walking forward a few steps held it 
up before the middies. 

“ Look, lads,” he said, “ at the shot-holes. This is 
the hat not only of a priest but of as brave a sol¬ 
dier as ever confronted the foe.” 


The Wanderers' Return 309 

There was no more laughing after that, but a 
ringing cheer went up, repeated again and again in 
the evening air, that would have done your heart 
good to have listened to. 

Then, as with one impulse, forward rushed the 
young officers, and before he knew exactly where 
he was, or what everything meant, Father Mc- 
Downey was being marched round and round the 
deck, on the juniors’ shoulders, as they sang 

“ See the conquering hero comes! ” 

and finally disappeared with him below. 


CHAPTER XV 
The Men of Steel and Steam / 

" And the ship ; how she trembles from top to keel— 
Though she rates twelve thousand tons! 

And her scorched decks leap with a thundering throb 
’Neath the roar of her twelve-inch guns ! 

Dented and tortured and pierced, she stands 
The blows on her rigging plates ; 

Grimy and black she signals back, 

To the flags of her fighting mates; 

Hear the grinding crash from her armoured prow, 

Hear the rattling bolts from the mast ? 

Young steel flanks of the living ‘ Now ’ 

Is Old Ironsides of the ‘ Past.’ ”— Barnes. 

While the fighting was still in progress around 
Santiago, great deeds were being done by the 
American fleet, or at all events had commenced. 
Admiral Sampson was a thorough fighting, and 
clever sailor. 

But like all brave men, modest to a degree. He 
wanted no praise for his strenuous efforts in keeping 
up the blockade. 

“ That was an easy matter,” he himself tells us, 
“for the entrance to the bay is narrow and we 
could get near enough to have made fun for any 
vessel coming out, if a moon or stars were only 
visible. 

310 


The Men of Steel and Steam ! 311 

“I found,” he continued, “that, owing to her 
inability to answer helm—indeed it had been dam¬ 
aged by the fire from the forts—brave Hobson was 
unable to sink the Merrimac broadside on, and so 
the marvelous courage of himself and his heroes 
had been useless, for ships could pass the wreck. 

“ I therefore did my best to keep up the blockade 
as follows: At night a battle-ship was sent in shore 
and threw a beam right up the channel which made 
everything therein as bright as day. Thus even the 
movements of small boats could be detected. 
Picket steam launches were also stationed close to 
the entrance so that nothing could force its way out 
of the neck of the great bottle undetected and 
alive. 

“ Then, when the fighting around Santiago com¬ 
menced, all the fleet crept closer to the land and 
another battle-ship, broadside on to the channel, was 
stationed close to the search-light ship.” 

Between the Devil and the Deep Sea. 

This was precisely the position of Cervera on the 
ever-to-be-remembered 1st of July. 

For, with an enemy on shore and another waiting 
outside for him, his feelings were not to be envied. 

Hobson and his fellow-prisoners could see the 
bombardment of Santiago itself from their dungeon 
windows; and for nine hours the fleet poured a 
tremendous fire of shot and shell far over the heads 


312 Fighting For Cuba 

of the skulking fleet and into the narrow lanes of 
the city itself. 

Again on the 2d of July, Morro was almost de¬ 
molished, during a four hours’ bombardment. 

It was well, indeed, that Sampson let his men 
rest after this, for the real naval battle took place 
on the very next day. 

Cervera considered the whole situation, and de¬ 
termined to hazard an exit, and though at first he 
thought of stealing out under cover of the night of 
July 2d, he put it off until next day. 

The Americans had hardly expected his exit then. 
It was a calm and beautiful Sunday morning— 
strange, by the way, that so many great battles are 
fought on this holy day—and what a state of bustle 
and excitement followed Lieutenant Hodgon’s mega- 
phonic shout—“ Enemy’s fleet coming out! ” 

This was about ten o’clock a. m., and instantly 
the Brooklyn cleared for action. 

Poor Ted McCoy had been praying for his 
adopted brother’s safety, for he believed he was still 
on shore, and he only wished that he could be with 
him. 

Commodore Schley, who had been aft little ex¬ 
pecting the glorious, heart-stirring news, was now 
at once on his mettle. 

Yes, yonder one by one, like some terrible py¬ 
thon, the Don’s fleet came trailing out of harbour 
and was welcomed by such a shout as had never 
before been heard in these waters. 


The Men of Steel and Steam! 313 

And the excitement was great now, both below 
and aloft. Even the stokers fought like veritable 
demons to get up the fires that should send the 
American ships onward, and in shore at the greatest 
speed. 

And yonder, right easily seen now was the In¬ 
fanta Maria Teresa, over which Cervera’s defiant 
flag was floating or trying to. She led the van, 
but the Yiscaya came next, the great Almirante 
and the redoubtable Cristobal Colon and several 
torpedo-boat destroyers. 

The Iowa was near at hand when fire was opened 
by Schley, and other ships soon took up the terrible 
song or joined the rattling chorus. 

The New York was three miles off shore when 
the battle began. 

Now had the Dons slipped out at night, their 
pilot boats guiding them by the gleams of their 
enemy’s search—a truly beautiful way of turning a 
foe to good account,—it had been intended that a 
most terrific and deadly fire should first sink the 
Brooklyn, for she was the speediest Yankee ship of 
war. They should then trust to showing the rest a 
clean pair of heels. 

When far out of reach of hostile guns, Cervera 
believed he could get north unseen, then descend¬ 
ing like a select assortment of steel and steam tor¬ 
nadoes on the poorly protected American coast, lay 
in ashes all the principal cities on the seaboard. 

He saw his way clearly to do so. Anyhow he be- 


314 Fighting For Cuba 

lieved it, and told himself as the flagship made her 
exit, that it was better at all events to die sword in 
hand, than like a rat in a hole. 

But he had hardly counted on:—first the extra¬ 
ordinary power and capability to manoeuvre pos¬ 
sessed by the American fleet; secondly, the accu¬ 
rate aim of the Yankee gunners, and thirdly, the ut¬ 
ter incapacity of his own. 

The Brooklyn lay well to the west, and for 
nearly a quarter of an hour every shot from the 
Spanish fleet was directed toward her. And that 
too from guns as powerful as any in the world. 

Had anything in the shape of gunners been be¬ 
hind those guns, the flagship of Commodore Schley 
would have gone to Davy Jones’ locker in ten min¬ 
utes or less. 

“ Fire quietly, deliberately,” cried Schley to his 
men. “Don’t lose your heads, lads, and don’t 
throw away a single shot.” 

Even Teddy, who was assisting at a gun, though 
not aiming, laughed as he saw the enemy’s shot 
spattering about harmlessly in all directions save 
the right one. 

“ Sure, it’s firing at the sharks they are entirely,” 
he said. 

But it was soon after this that Ted was called 

off. 

“I want a young active fellow,” said Schley, 
talking rapidly into his ear, for the din was terrific, 
“ to rehoist the stars and stripes, which ”—pointing 


The Men of Steel and Steam! 315 

upward—“you can see have been shot away. Can 
you do it ? ” 

“ Hooch! ” cried Ted. “ Ay, sure, and God bless 
you for the proud and lofty position.” 

“ Off with you, then.” 

Away went Ted aloft, his life in his hand, and in 
ten minutes’ time the flag of Columbia was once 
more fluttering in the light breeze. All this time 
Ted’s body had been exposed to the fire of Spanish 
sharp-shooters. They weren’t sharp enough, how¬ 
ever, and when he had finished his work he shook 
his fist in proud defiance at Cervera’s ship. 

The action brought a shower of bullets and one 
of these tore through the brave lad’s hair. He had 
no cap and was stripped naked to the waist. 

He stood there a few minutes longer to inhale 
the fresh and balmy air, and to gaze around him at 
the “ hell of battle ” that was raging around, at the 
blue sea southward, and northward at the green 
and peaceful hills and mountains of beautiful Cuba. 

But at the foot of those, white puffs of smoke 
told him distinctly enough that in the forests and 
jungles, 

“ The angel of death had spread his wings on the blast, 

And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed.” 

Every Irishman is poetical and musical, and Ted 
was no exception. But he must dream no more up 
here, so he made haste below. 

Commodore Schley nodded his thanks and asked 


316 Fighting For Cuba 

him to stay with him that he might send a message 
speedily to any part of the ship. Ted was under 
fire now with a vengeance, but so, too, was the 
commodore. If it is a pleasure to sail with so great 
a warrior, Ted told himself, surely it would be an 
honour to die by his side. 

He prayed with fervour, nevertheless, that America 
might have the victory, and that heaven might save 
all his friends. 

I am really afraid that Ted added a few words 
to that last sentence, which were hardly in accord¬ 
ance with the doctrines of Christianity ; they were 
as follows: “ Save us all in this fleet, O Lord! but 
smash the foe; only have mercy on the poor souls 
av them, if it be souls they have, and not gizzards.” 

Ted was earnest, anyhow, and mind he was but 
little more save a peasant boy, though well educated, 
and turned sailor. 

The Brooklyn was, is, and, I hope, long will re¬ 
main, a splendid fighting machine. And certainly 
not without beauty-points either. She has a fore 
and a main, or rather, mizzenmast, and between 
the two the smoke-jacks rise. She is up to date in 
every way, and her gun-power is tremendous. With 
a speed of twenty knots, she can fight as she flies 
through the air. Her belt-armour (steel) is three 
inches thick; deck, three to six inches; barbettes, 
eight inches, and turrets, five and a half inches. In 
her main battery she carries eight eight-inch guns 
and twelve five-inch; in her secondary battery, 


The Men of Steel and Steam! 317 

twelve six-pounders, with field guns, four torpedo 
tubes and the marines. 

Well, our Ted showed no white feather, although 
his ship was the oftenest and hardest hit of any in 
the squadron, and more than one narrow escape did 
he have before this naval action was over. 

Nevertheless something happened while he still 
stood high aloft near the main truck that, had he 
noticed, would have made him a very happy lad 
indeed. 

The saucy Bonito then, although beyond range, 
was there and looking on. Adeane himself, through 
his biggest telescope, had sighted that intrepid sailor 
swarming up and working so coolly, and was greatly 
rejoiced when he found it was none other than Ted 
himself. 

“O! O ! ” cried Aileen, excitedly, when she had a 
look, “ it is dear old Ted. And he is so near. O ! 
could we not speak to him ? ” 

She went rushing away now, and got on to the 
bridge and waved her handkerchief wildly in the 
direction of the Brooklyn. But alas! Ted never 
saw her. 

From the New York, although she was not so 
deeply engaged, a splendid sight of the battle was 
obtained by Desmond and his friend Ginger. 

The latter, I am glad to say, showed not the 
slightest fear. 

****** 

To give anything like a complete account of this 


318 Fighting For Cuba 

great fight would be impossible in a story. Suffice 
it to say that it was marked by splendid courage on 
both sides, by excellent manoeuvring on the part of 
the Americans and exceedingly bad gunnery on 
that of the Spaniards; and that it ended in the com¬ 
plete destruction, by sinking, stranding, burning or 
exploding, of the whole of Spain’s great fleet. 

Cervera’s own ship was the first to catch fire, for 
a shell from Ted’s ship had exploded right in the 
admiral’s private quarters ; another from the Texas 
did equal duty in the engine-room. 

It was a terrible time on board that unhappy 
vessel, with what remained of her decks a mere char¬ 
nel house, dead bodies, limbs and heads lying in all 
directions, and alas ! poor men held down by broken 
pieces of iron to be slowly burned alive. 

Of course she lowered her flag, but the smoke 
prevented the fleet from knowing this, till finally a 
great white tablecloth was run up, and the firing 

“ Then ceased, and all was wail.” 

The Almirante was being also badly mauled by 
the Iowa, shells bursting sometimes two at a time 
in her. Like a dying creature in her death-struggle, 
she now started forward and away from the claws 
of the awful Iowa, only to fall into the clutches of 
the Texas and Oregon. 

She headed now for the shore that she might be 
beached, but the flames had got entire possession of 
her. 


The Men of Steel and Steam ! 319 

The Viscaya was also torn to pieces and burning 
as she rushed for the beach at 10 : 30 . 

One dreadful shell raked her gun-deck, killing 
one-half the men instantly and wounding all the 
others. Such is the tremendous effect of our mod¬ 
ern naval artillery. 

The Colon gave the Americans a long chase, but 
she finally succumbed and was chased into, and 
sank, in comparatively shallow water. 

****** 

The fleet being destroyed, all that could be done 
was done to save the wounded. 

Cervera himself was rescued by the Gloucester, 
and right glad was I to hear it. He is a brave and 
daring man, and, strangely enough, the very image 
of my dear friend, the late Admiral John Byng. 

This great battle was quite on a par with that 
fought at Manila in the far Philippines. 

And with the loss of their ships, the power of 
Spain may well be said to have ended both in the 
West Indies and in the distant Pacific. 


CHAPTER XVI 

Alt Things Good and Lovely Wake Again 


“ So sleeps the pride of former days 
When glory’s thrill is o’er, 

And hearts that once beat high with praise, 
Now feel that pulse no more.”— Moore. 


I am not a naval architect, but only an author, 
yet it must strike even my most juvenile reader, 
that the greatest barrier to success in a fleet is the 
want of perfect gunners, and the inability to ma¬ 
noeuvre a great fleet with scientific skill. 

One cannot help feeling sorry for the Spaniards 
going down so quickly in their flaming ships. Why 
was it so ? 

Woodwork—woodwork! That is the curse of 
a modern navy. It should be banished entirely. 
God grant—I pray most fervently—that our Lord’s 
commissioners at home here may lay to heart the 
great lessons that the American-Spanish war has 
taught not us alone, but the world. 

Give Britain’s ships the best steel armour and the 
thickest, consonant with a high rate of speed. 

Give them indestructible means of steering, and 
the best of guns, and we shall be ready when the 

320 


Things Good and Lovely Wake Again 321 

day of trial comes to render a good account of any 
enemy who tries to insult 

« The meteor flag of Britain.” 

You will notice, boys, that I do not pray for good 
officers and brave men. 

Why ? Because we have them already. 

We do not want to boast. That is idiotic. We 
do not wish to talk jingo, but so long as we have 
brave and scientific admirals, officers, and men all 
the way dow^ the second-class boy whose chief 
duties are t^ perform the office of valet to the ship’s 
cat, let us be at least content, and jolly ourselves 
on with the thought that when war comes, our truly 
great navy will not be found in any way either 
wanting or unwilling. 

****** 

The cruel war is over. 

Spain, figuratively speaking, bent her knees and 
begged for mercy, sued for peace. 

“No, no,” said Columbia, gently raising and 
soothing her, “no,no,Espanola, fair daughter of an 
ancient and warlike race, beautiful still in thy grief, 
to me thou must not kneel, but to the Power we 
both must own. Arise; to err is human, to forgive 
—divine. Let us reason together and hencefoith 
let there be no hatred between us, no envy, no jeal¬ 
ousy. Let us need no longer the crimson light J 


322 Fighting For Cuba 

war’s dread torch, to help us bind the wounds of 
your bleeding sons and mine. So sister arise, for 

“ ‘ Danger’s troubled night is past 
And the star of peace returning ; ’ 

and there are happy days yet in store for even thee 
whom thy rulers, base and reckless, goaded on to 
the war-path. ’Tis they who should suffer, and not 
thy brave sons, whose deeds and chivalry in th* 
brave days of old won the wonder of the world.” 

And now, reader, our romance of war is over. 
What care we, boys, for the political portion of it. 
Nothing in that to attract. I, for one, hate politics 
and parchment as much as I love music and the 
sunshine that lights up beautiful scenery, greenery 
of woodland and forests, misty glens and rugged 
mountains, and blue of sea and sky. 

So let us begone. 

“ When this cruel war is over.” It was an ex¬ 
pression used by poor Beaver many times and oft, 
and he had meant to do great things and have much 
fun and general jollity when America at last wiped 
her sword and sheathed it. 

Ah! well the cruel war is over for him, for ever 
and for aye. Soundly enough he sleeps in his grave 
beside the forest; he will not even hear the wind 
sighing among the long, long grass, nor whispering 
through the woodland foliage. He can not see the 
glory of the flowers beside him, nor hear the wild 
bird’s song. 


Things Good and Lovely Wake Again 3 2 3 

But we will not have him dead. No, he is but 
slumbering there, and every returning springtime 
tells us that all things good and lovely wake again. 

****** 

The seven or eight months following that happy 
day in the annals of America, when about the mid¬ 
dle of August, 1898, peace was signed and the glad 
tidings wired round the world, were eventful enough 
to Adeane and to his family. 

First and foremost, the bold Bonito crossed the 
Atlantic on a visit to his estate of Ballymeedin, in 
bonnie Erin. 

He had telegraphed his intention of coming to 
his overseer and housekeeper, and though everyone 
was in a great and joyful flutter in consequence, 
everything was ready and in good order by the time 
of the arrival. 

Ted McCoy had gone back to the hacienda in 
Cuba, and, with the help of many who were glad to 
see him, had built himself a hut on the grounds. 
Captain Adeane had ordered him to await his re¬ 
turn there, but meanwhile to answer letters con¬ 
cerning the sale of the plantation which he would, 
in all probability, receive from America; the large 
and splendid property being in the market and ready 
to be knocked down to the highest bidder. 

All the others, from Aileen herself to Charlie Chat 
and Cheese, had returned in the yacht. 

And this return was signalised by the tenantry 


Fighting For Cuba 


3 2 4 

with great rejoicings, a bonfire on the highest hill, 
a dinner at the hall with plenty to eat and drink, 
and a ball to follow. 

At this ball—what cared he?—brave Father Mc- 
Downey was a chief figure. He danced and he 
sang, and he played old Irish airs that made tears 
bedim the eyes of more than one fair maiden there. 

Next day he and Adeane rode over all the 
estate. 

More than once the captain reined up his horse 
to gaze around him, silently, but in rapture. 

O, what a peace was there! See the silvery rills 
running onward, singing as they went through 
many a green and bosky glen, toward the lakes. 
Those lakes, sparkling but calm beneath the autumn 
sunshine, were all the world to the tiny streamlets. 
They were oceans that they should meet and mingle 
with, never dreaming that there was a far-distant 
sea which could swallow up these lakes and a thou¬ 
sand such, yet never seem one whit the larger. 

And the air was mild and balmy to-day; winter 
was still far ahead, and hardly, indeed, had the 
tints that usher in the fa’ o’ the year, yet tinged 
the trees with their sunset glory. 

“ I feel happy here! ” said Adeane. “ This is our 
own land, father. I would fain forget its sorrows 
and its past tribulations, and settle down quietly 
for the rest of my days. I—I begin to feel just a 
little tired of life’s battle.” 

“ Yes, son, you need rest,” said McDowney, “but 


Things Good and Lovely Wake Again 325 

being rested, do you not think you will long to 
enter the struggle once again ? ” 

“No, no, no, life is worth living in such a lovely 

land as this. I shall be content when-” 

“ Aye, when ? ” 

“When I have settled my affairs, father. You 
and I shall sail for the far Philippines, then to 
Cuba. We will do everything that ought to be 
done, and if I have aught remaining this shall be 
my home. For friend, a humble cottage and little 
farm will fill all my desires, so long as it is in our 
own dear land of Erin.” 

“ Spoken like a man and hero; spoken, Adeane, 
like your good old Irish self—alas! that it should 
be noble hearts like yours, which England, with its 
boasted love of ‘ fair play, 5 should be doing its best 
to alienate. The day may come——” 

“ Hush! hush! Father McDowney. England only 
treated us badly when she did not know us. She 
begins to know us now, and therefore to love us. 
Let the dead Past bury its dead. Erin can afford 
to forgive even her quondam foes and shake hands 
across the channel.” 

****** 

The brief visit to the Philippine Islands was made 
nearly all the way under steam. But it opened 
Adeane’s eyes to the fact that his scheme for mak¬ 
ing another million or two had been far too Uto¬ 
pian. The country was—and is while I write—In 


326 Fighting For Cuba 

a terribly disturbed state and howling for inde¬ 
pendence, though too young and foolish to govern 
itself. 

The company was, therefore, wound up, but—all 
honour to Adeane—no one was a loser save he him¬ 
self. 


****** 

Mrs. Adeane had stayed at home, though all the 
rest were on board. 

While still in Manila, or rather in the bay out¬ 
side, the captain received a cablegram from New 
York. It was brief, but to the point. 

“Plantation sold. Going back to Pinos. Will 
wait you there. Ted.” 

“Well,” said Adeane, as he handed the letter to 
Father McDowney, “ I am relieved of that at last. 
Thank heaven! ” 

“ I’m glad you’re resigned. Sure enough I am, 
Captain Adeane. Now you’ll be happy!” 

“ Yes, McDowney,” cried Adeane. “ Shake hands, 
father. Why, I feel twenty years younger. I am 
not only happy, but, bless your dear, droll face, my 
boy, I’m contented.” 

Surely dogs know the very inmost thoughts of 
those they love and take an interest in, for at this 
moment, Charlie Chat, with his great chump of a 
head, stood right in front of Captain Adeane and 
shook out, so to put it, about a score of hoarse 
barks at him, while he smiled right down both 


Things Good and Lovely Wake Again 317 

sides as far as his tail. But up ran Pussy Cheese 
on three legs,—one paw elevated and ready—and 
gave Charlie a smack with her gloved hand. 

Then off the two went to enjoy the triple delight 
of a race, a sham fight and a shindy. 

As on a previous occasion the Bonito returned by 
Cape Horn, or rather she passed through the 
wondrous Straits of Magellan. 

It was a long and very delightful voyage. But 
they made the Isle of Pines at last, and there at the 
beautiful chalet was Ted McCoy sure enough, and a 
right pleasant fortnight was passed. 

Young Lieutenant Adeane, alias our brave young 
hero, Desmond, was to return to the American 
navy—indeed he is there now—but he took the 
opportunity during the time the Bonito lay at 
Pinos of slipping over to Cuba. First he visited 
and laid flowers on Beaver’s grave, then with a 
party rode on a visit to the dear old hacienda, 
which under the auspices of a new company was 
rising once more, like the fabled Phoenix, from its 
ashes. 

Then Desmond and his cavaliers made straight 
away through forest and jungle, to the little 
hacienda in which he had spent what he considered 
the happiest days of his life. 

Nothing was changed, and his “little mother,” 
Babette, ran to his arms with a fond cry and 
nestled there, as had been her wont. 

“ And when are we going to be married ? ” she 


328 Fighting For Cuba 

said, innocently, many times as the two roamed 
the wild forests together during his stay. 

“ Some day, dearest, some day. Your hero, as 
you call me, shall return and claim his little 
bride.” 

And some day, reader, I may tell you in con¬ 
fidence this is going to happen, only pretty 
Babette must be a trifle bigger and older before 
then. 


****** 

Back in Ireland, and settled down, is Adeane, so 
I must lay aside my pen; somewhat reluctantly, I 
should add, for I begin to love my heroes and 
heroines whether anyone else does so or not. 

Adeane had saved far more money than he 
reckoned on. 

Well he deserves to be happy. He won all he 
made, and won it honestly, which is more than can 
be said about many millionaires. 

Of course Father McDowney lives on Adeane’s 
estate, and oftentimes, on still and beautiful 
evenings, after dinner, as they sit together on the 
balcony with the finest scenery in all Ireland spread 
out beneath them, do these two talk together of old 
times, while Adeane smokes calmly the calumet of 
peace. 

Ted McCoy is factor, and seems to live on horse¬ 
back. 

And a right brave, handsome fellow he looks I 


Things Good and Lovely Wake Again 329 

I rather think that—between you and me and 
the binnacle, reader, hush! don’t let it go a foot 
farther—one of these days Aileen and he will get 
spliced. 

Mind I don’t speak with certainty. 

I only just—think. 

I remain, dear boys, 

Thine to the Spine, 

Your Author. 


the END. 













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